A Looking Glass in Ernest Shattered
by GantuShmantu
Summary: The first chapter in the Invictus trilogy! Set in a very different Gotham then most may have envisioned, a very troubled young man is still recuperating after the tragic events that robbed him of his sanity and sent him to Arkham for nearly a year. Now, the names and rules have changed, but one thing is clear: Gotham needs a savior. (The story continues in A Moonlight Façade.)
1. Ignore the Glass, Half of Me is You

Chapter 1- Ignore the Glass, Half of You is Me

Sympathy was never among Maron Shampton's strong suits, regardless of whether or not he held the somewhat prestigious position as superintendent of Gotham High School. Day in and day out, he was held responsible for giving the future generations a sense of hope and stability in a turbulent time, masking the poverty stricken streets and overwhelming sense of doom from so called "super criminals" at large.

At times, when it seemed to be pointless and that none of them were willing to listen to reason, the was the faintest sense of a third party within...telling him to just let them sink into the pit of despair that was the gasoline and gunpowder fueled underbelly. It was all too easy, to give in, to give up on them in much the same way that he had given up on his own life at some point and just lived by their means to stay afloat...to stay alive.

After the lot of his temptations subsided, there were always times when he would at long last see the potential in the teens he saw shuffling about, themselves being drug in against their will nonetheless. It was because of this capability and foresight, that he dreaded having the discipline some of the more arrogant or difficult students.

Calls to the parent or guardian, referrals, retention, detention, all just a waste of time and energy in his mind. What these children needed when it got to such an extreme was someone to relate to, someone to confide in, a mentor maybe...or perchance a shrink. But he wasn't in the business of examining instability. At least, not anymore he wasn't.

"Now, i'm sorry once again for calling you in on such short notice, i'm sure that this is all just a big misunderstanding. However, the seriousness of the matter cant be ignored, I just hope you can understand my side of things Mrs...?"

"Oh, don't be so formal, we're all adults here, just call me Stacy." She was a middle-aged woman, although by the color of her face you would never have guessed, a thick layer of lipstick and makeup covering most of what was her own natural look. There was a few rough patches across her face, most notably on her right cheek and just below her bottom lip which still shown through her valiant cosmetic efforts. Her voice no doubt her most odd of qualities, booming and confident but also slippery and sly in such a way that you'd think that she could get away wit murder if she just smiled in the right fashion. "I'm still not entirely sure what my daughter has done to deserve a weeks suspension, although i'm sure we can work this all out, no need to...get all hot and bothered."

No parent wants to be in this situation, and for the administrator the feeling is brutally mutual; they get the so-called honor of coming in in the middle of whatever stressors they have at home or work, to hear that their child has done something wrong. Or better yet, that the person in a position of authority has to break it to them that they might have something wrong with them in general, digging up a feeling of insecurity and a misplaced need to blame.

If it was anyone else's kid, they would be the same way, denying it all and hoping desperately to just assess the situation different then "my child is mentally unequal." No one goes into that conversation with the approach that they should look to what's best, because on the inside they just beg the question "who made them like this?"

"Your daughter is bright, one of the brightest we have here, in fact she currently sits comfortably as the second in her class. If I may be so bold, she might even be the top of her class had she not had so many disciplinary marks on her record." He told her bluntly, her crimson lips staying sealed as tightly as can be, awaiting his lecture to be over. "She was assigned an essay, approximately five to ten pages in length, focusing on a single person of which she felt would be a good role model. Most of her class wrote about a celebrity that they admired, or even their parents, but she...uh..."

Maron finished as his mind failed to produce anything further, but instead he just slid a small manila envelop over towards her, allowing silence to fill the room as she skimmed over each page. In it, a collection of drawings, mainly in oil pastels and a variety of soft water-based paints, all of which were much to her confusion of the same ghastly figure. Then at the end of the drawings there was a section of ten tattered and crumbled pages stapled together. A single playing card taped to it for good measure.

"I'm...i'm sure this was just a joke...I'll have a talk with her when we get home. Um...did...did she say why she did this?" Gaging the situation carefully, a bit of shock and horror over came her calm nonchalance for a second, but was dismissed just as easily as she had let it sink in. One hand gliding across the air soon landed on Shampton's lap, a wry smile showing almost instantaneously as he shuddered from the unexpected turn of events. "...by the way, I like your tie, even if you act like you have your psyche degree wedged between your ass...I think if you let yourself go once in a while you could be a lot of...fun"

Each syllable was almost excruciatingly implicating passion, every hot breathe hit his senses like a freight train and left him numb and along for the ride. She leaned in with just as much sultry style and finesse, and laid a soft kiss upon his cheek. Dazed and completely incapacitated by the rawness of it all, he merely watched with his jaw dangling below, a single spot of drool starting to form as she walked out of the office.

"Harley's a good kid, you know...it just takes time to really understand her."


	2. Before the Dawn

Drip, drip, drip. A cool breeze road over the length of Gotham, whether it be the ground level slums or even the rooftops which had seen better days of late, very few people would do without the harsh reality of winter this night. Midnight came and went just as it had always done, a fresh sense of unease and unpredictability hovering about, as a select few scrambled to get home safe and sound...while the seldom few who lingered after them vowed to make a name for themselves.

The alleyways and avenues were amiss with the calmness just before a storm, and in the depths of that sterile sanctity lay a single black vehicle, stationed outside of the local police station. Much like a vulture, it was silent, careful, and calculated down to the very last detail. One wouldn't know it, with it's windows tinted and wheels and rims spray painted to match the darkness of the occasion, but it stood strong with it's engine still humming to the effect of a metronome. After a few moments more of observation, three men exited like the wind was their aid and fluidity was in their blood; no trace of footprints behind, each with basic handguns holstered at their sides.

"fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight..." One of the men muttered aloud as they approached the marble staircase leading them straight to the front door, a thick hockey mask obscuring his face. A profusely oily set of curls sticking out on the sides as well as the top, his hands fidgeting back and forth within his pockets, fingertips entranced on a certain item out of view.

"Will you shut the 'ell up, for Christ sakes, the deaf lady downtown didn't hear you! If it weren't for my motha i'd have killed you by now!" Shouted the second man, wearing a dual set of half masquerade masks which had clearly been applied in a frenzy, hair unlike his accomplice was slicked back respectfully. His hands bruised and bloody, although it was somewhat hard to tell with the vast amounts of stray marker and paint that were also left behind.

They continued onward up the last couple stairs, and grasped the handle to the entranceway greedily, one of them walking in first with the other following behind with an itchy trigger finger. Easily the vibrancy of the clothing and oddities galore contrasted to the subdued nature of the buildings interior, a desk of dark brown mahogany stood tall before them with a taxed young woman dazing off into the distance. Unbeknownst to her, the third gentleman who had remained silent the whole time slowly approached her at the terminal and cleared his throat.

Her ears perked up and she jumped at the sight of this man, knife in hand staring at her with his head tilted at a ninety degree angle. Adding insult to injury was his massive height at almost seven foot, shoulders broader then she had ever seen, tattoos of various generic circus attractions sprawled across his arms from top to bottom. The little light the room had shone almost menacingly off of his red nose he wore, the rest of his face covered by a soft white mask most likely made of some fabric like that of a body suit.

"tut, tut, sleeping on the jobs never a good thing, doll." She tried to leave her seat, albeit it was more or less leaping, but his hand found her forearm first, pinching in just the right pressure points to leave her weak. Soft moans of discomfort escaped her lips, but he covered her mouth before much else could, it would be all too easy to alert someone here at the doorstep of the lions den. He made small cooing noises almost in an attempt to comfort her, his face getting closer to hers while she began to shake and a single tear began to fall. Brushing a piece of hair back he placed that same hand on her cheek, and before she could weep or tremble in fear a second longer, he slid his fingers further back and in one swift motion snapped her neck.

**(Halfway across town, on the grounds of Wayne Manor)**

Alfred Pennyworth had always been a very proud and humble man, never had asked for very much to be given to him, not once allowed himself to feel entitled to anything despite the people he had served. He had lived a long and fulfilled life, helping others in whatever way he could find, it was his duty to simply manage a way of bettering the world. He traveled the world at length, saw the peaks of the highest mountains, touched the grasses in the most post jungles, and even fought against terror itself. But that was another life.

Here he stood, as he had for longer than most would even care to say, had they known him in his youth. The autumn years had set in, but he had no regrets, and after all of the adventure and heroism had settled he cemented his place in existence. He knew where he wanted to be. He knew his home. Gotham. A city almost cancerous from decay and deficit, but all the same he wouldn't have it any other way. In the end, he had only asked for one simple thing...to keep him safe.

Bruce Wayne may have become a billionaire philanthropist, but in his mind he still saw that same small boy who once couldn't go five minutes without his assistance. The son he never got to have. When things started getting bad, when the light escaped his eyes, there wasn't a single second that went by where he hadn't noticed. But for both their sakes, Alfred just wished for him to find something in life to hold onto, and give him a direction. Lately, he had come to fear that wasn't the case.

The moon's gaze fully took hold, the frost in the air was paralyzing, and neither of the two had been able to get an ounce of rest. However, Wayne being awake was a given seeing as he had become nocturnal after the last few years. All of the estate was spotless, as usual, but something about the silence this night in particular had kept him from slumber. "Master Wayne?" Alfred asked the emptiness, but there was no answer. On the prowl, he hadn't been able to find his housemate anywhere, and even if it was common he still preferred to know of his whereabouts one way or another. A few moments later, a significant vibration worked its way through the floor right under his feet, knocking a few small trinkets out of place and without a word answering his question.

A few rooms beyond the kitchen, just past the east wing of the house their was a grand music room and study, complete with more books backed to and fro with more books then could be read in a lifetime. A series of extravagant pieces of furniture that seemed untouched, and a grand piano that almost seemed too good to be true. And to say so, you'd be right. For as he made his way there, all he had to do to demonstrate such was press down on a simple set of three keys in succession, and a bookcase on the far left corner extended outward. An elevator revealing itself instantaneously, and with the push of a simple button allowing him to disappear from the room...and into darkness.

A network of underground caves lie underneath the Mansion, and had been untapped potential until recently when Bruce had taken it upon himself to renovate it into a fully applicable workspace. Matching his newly established nature to a tee, if not anything else to meet his own nocturnal cycle it would be to nest with the bats whom had made a home within. An assumption made, an assumption stood correct. As at a small makeshift desk he stood with the shadows engulfing him whole, the sole living member of the Wayne livelihood at in silence. In hand was a totem of the present, a mask completely black and made of a rubber worth more than most peoples yearly salaries. Eyes trained on it like a hawk, almost afraid to let it go for anything in the world. Or maybe at this precise moment that mask was his world.

"It's rather curious, master Bruce."

"What's curious, Alfred?"

"It's curious, sir, that I was to be awoken by the same engine hum four nights in a row. More so, that when I rise to see you off for your nightly festivities, that you still be here." There was a dab of sly wit thrown about in his response, but more then anything there would always be a seriousness to the way he did things. He cared, but more than anything, it was because the young master did for so long.

"You'll be glad to know i'm taking the night off, I should be up and in my "chambers" as you call it soon enough. Don't worry so much, old friend. I remember you telling me you were trying to avoid looking like an old man before you are one?" Bruce retorted, resulting in a hearty chuckle from Alfred even though he knew all too well the truth behind his wordplay.

"And at what age exactly are you going to consider me "old?"

"Well, you haven't reached a hundred yet, so how about I keep you posted?"


	3. The Killing Joke (Part One)

The face of sanity is a jigsaw puzzle, evermore taking shape in ways which we can scarcely imagine, and when we at long last see the dust of the mind settle...is the moment wherein our our stillness of mind fades. Human nature was all but forgotten in the world, as people adopted morals and ethics to better discern a way of life that would universally suit the masses. In this secure structure of the incorrigible and inhumane there was a truth kept that all else had turned their backs on long ago. The Fairness of the souls deepest depths, where there is no remorse. Just Acceptance.

Bank robbers, political idealists, murders, rapists, the bevy of the cities underbelly had been a classic example of a simple truth which persisted in the months that had followed. The demons and monsters we have once condemned to places where we dare not go, were brought into the light of day when mankind itself slowly realized they lay within us all. One man brought Gotham to its knees with this philosophy, had them at his mercy and forced to face the instincts long suppressed. In time, his reign subsided, but not without sacrifice. Not without making even the most pure of heart feel dirty on the innards of the soul...for after what he'd done, nothing was sacred anymore.

Sitting alone in an empty room, the absolute loneliness that would consume most men, but it just made him want to cackle in a way that would seem maniacal, but for his profile that was an understatement. After so long at time laying in place without much to entertain his mind, he would lose sight of the here and now and stare into the distance, or rather what he could see of it outside the lone barred window in his cell. Straight jacket on firmly like a glove, but it wasn't a restriction for him, he knew its grasp well much like the swaddling cloth to a baby. He had tried time and time again, and discovered long ago where he would need to apply just the right amount of pressure to tear it apart at the seams. Yet there was no need. There was no point.

Some men were strong, others would shriek at the sight of the smallest and most unpleasant of things, many would be placed into categories where others would place their bets as to whether or not this place would take them whole. Here, in Arkham Asylum, he felt more at home then anywhere else he had ever been, but it was what lay beyond that silenced him almost the point of utter catatonia. His lust for anarchy which had at one time been insatiable, now appeared to dry like water to a desert in the summer heat...without someone to understand his own cruel trepidation, there was no longer a point in it all.

Meals were deposited twice daily via a small slot on the door, which was at least five inches thick and most reasonably made out of a semi soundproof and bulletproof metal. There had been no visitors. None whatsoever. But in earnest, who would have wanted to visit a man of his reputation, and even if they would have wanted to the process of getting in would take all day. Weapons checks, close proximity limitations, time constraints which made anyone speaking to him have maybe five minutes with him and not a second more: it was obvious that they wanted him by himself in his cell at all times, and by some extent for the safety of all. Three police officials had came in the first few weeks, the commissioner James Gordon, as well as two of the police he knew were as dirty as can be. He just stared at them as if staring beneath all defense mechanisms and social grace, primly undressing the exterior and leaving only the truth of what remains when the moral code grows stale.

Initially, a member of the Arkham Staff, Joan Leland, had thought it best to place him in a joint living quarter as to better observe his future rehabilitation. The next morning, a man by the name of Schiff Thomas had been found hung from a ceiling fan by an electrical wire, and one thing that she would never let escape her memory was the man's reaction upon orderlies discovering the deceased. He sat with his back against the wall, throwing a decks worth of cards into a hat which had been a possession of Schiff's one at a time, informing the staff that it was suicide. Hardly a convincing prognosis for anyone seeing as they had a psyche evaluation on file that conflicted with it, but even less believable when he the apparent suicide note was signed with a smiley face and dotted in red lipstick.

"You are aware, that given everything you've put Gotham through, that I was putting my career on the line by giving you a roommate, right?" Leland emoted, her ever so impressive professionalism fading as she became more and more frustrated by the subject in mind.

"Well doc, if you think about it at the moment, there ended up being alittle more on the line, don't you think? I mean, you have a man's blood on your hands, well...technically I do. But that's not so important." He licked his lips, voice coming out a bit excited at the thought of his handiwork, he was loving every minute of it like it was all just a game to him.

"I wanted you to have the opportunity to have a friend, some feel it better to cure mental instability with a bit of kindness and hope. You went for a knife and faulty wiring."

"Friendship...is like a plant, give it what it needs... it can thrive and grow and flourish, but if something goes wrong, and believe me it will, it can just as easily wither and die. Friendship stopped being a concept when I felt the need to carry the mask around whenever I was around them. And no, it wasn't this mask, but the won I was born with. That smile I paint on to myself...that face, laughing at you all as you try so damn desperately to control and maintain security. That. Is. My. Face. I just want to show you all my side of things...that knife was just far more fun." Sunken eyes fixated on his hands which had been viciously fidgeting all the while he spoke, his own voice subject to change from deep to high almost by the mood. "I like to think of you as a lily..."

"And what flower would that make you, patient 4479?" Still to this day the notion of being reffered to as a number angered him, but yet he refused to reveal his own identity, and the one on file was completely inappropriate and against all regulations. Smacking his lips together once more his a larger then life grin shown through the half healed scars on his face, a long a hearty laugh bellowing out of him.

"Oh...i'm a weed."


	4. A Minds A Terrible Thing To Waste

_"Go ahead...take the money, it's what you've always done, isn't it? The lowest hanging fruit has always been the sweetest, and the most fattening. Quick to suffocate you in the pool of ease you created of your own design, you slowly suckle on the nectar, and as you surely depreciate you stay exactly where you are. And what you are. A product of what others are willing to give, not what you are willing to create. "_

Have you ever even tasted the luscious and supple nectar of insanity? The kind that makes you run through the pouring rain in a thousand dollar suit, screaming incoherently into the darkness of night, as your hands shake and waiver from the cold, but yet you do not stop. Why would you? This feeling will pass, it all shall pass, and in the wake of it all is a perfect numbness, and whether they choose to believe it or not...it is true bliss. Have you ever just left the rules at the door and danced under the cover of the stars, they are the purest blankets...the brightest friends, and they do not break, they do not betray, they do not bleed.

I can't tell the difference between what's mine or theirs anymore, to tell you the truth. It's all just a blur, like Vaseline on the lens of the camera because of an overindulgent first-year film student trying painfully to get a leg up on the competition. I hear voices, see things, but in this place I wouldn't put it past anyone to be the culprit; with an alligator in the basement the size of a Prius, riots breaking out every other day, and those infernal screams tearing through the pathetically thin walls. Something very wrong is happening here, but this isn't for the world to see or hear, almost everyone know what goes on in the deepest depths of the asylum. Amadeus is long since dead, and with it has gone his goals, his patience, and most importantly his conscience.

I'm so sorry Jess...if only things had gone differently maybe I could have built the future I once promised you, but at times I swear I can hear you calling out to me in that some silky smooth tone. So soft, so insatiably longing for life itself, just like before, you whisper, you knock on the outer doors, but yet I don't have the strength to release my bonds. There just might be hope. Some of the medical staff mumbled that I will be getting a roommate as part of their new form of rehabilitation. I hope he's nice.


	5. The Lost and the Desperate

_"I'm sorry doctor...buget cuts have already stretched us too thin...we cannot continue to give special treatment to patient 5229..."_

_His catatonia has become less intermittent and more permanent over the last few weeks...we fear that he no longer is aware of his surroundings...the hospital can no longer...he has merely a liability..."_

_"...he is a human being...an he deserves to be treated as such...the utmost of care shall be given..."_

_"...last six months the paitient has exhibited no symptoms, harmful or otherwise, towards himself or others...he is to be turned over to remedial housing as of the 31st of the month..."_

_"Doctor...? I have an idea for a suitable applicant as a roommate..."_

_"But what about the girl...? Shes...problem...a lot of questions."_

_"Just deal with it in a secure and discretionary manner, we cannot be having anymore bad media associated with the hospital...the media...liability...Arkham"_

_Ever notice theres a certain flavor to ones own misery? Its like a disingenuous mixture of vomit inducing confections from everything you've ever put into your body, just slightly dilute by the not so subtle taste of stomach acid as it arches its way up the back of your throat and ever so valiantly to burn a layer of flesh off the roof of your mouth. All the while, your movements are labored and most sensation is numbed, save for pain that is...in misanthropy we hold onto pain. We let it simmer and stew, give it time enough to ferment and coelless into something even more foul. And if pain is the bullet, then memory is indeed the trigger, although it oesnt bring an end to anything...it just merely shows us that we had a point, and life is a fickle bitch._

_For some people, pain is everything. It is our anchor, our light, our purpose. For a select few, it even overcomes reason. If the sun hurts out eyes, however small the amount, why is it that some feel so compelled to simply stare forward? Does the burning sensation not offer enough incentive to change my course of action? or are those just people just motivated by that very force to be given something...anything...just so they know they are still alive? Sadly, I, am one of those people._

_Twenty...seven? Or was it forty six? the days are nothing more then an indiscriminate backdrop to the seconds. I could crane my neck to the side to catch a glimpse of the time, but yet wouldn't that be a mere menagerie of numbers? No substance. No flavor. Where have I curiously fallen into? Smells so sterile. Sounds so drowned out into such an epidemic of humdrum insanity. No more then the tapping of my fingers alone as I stay fixated on a void of air between me and the far wall of my room, lost in a sea of my own thoughts. But something pulls me, making me ever the least bit sure that I am not alone. Another stands in my chambers, my new "home" and is...or rather was staring much the same way I was. In a way it ha seemed rather magical, like an old animatronic coming back to life after decades of dormancy. The light once again in his eyes, a set of matching scars on either side of his face, eerily mimicking a smile. But now he sat there looking at me, a hearty laughter filling the room and soon turning from a horse bare-bones attempt at speech to a higher-pitched, childish giggle of joy. All in all, misplaced and inappropriate for the location. _

_"How does one get back...what was recently lost...when another's own future is not...entirely...embossed." The disfigured ghoul questioned, his tone made it obvious that he was after my answer, but there didn't seem to be a reason for it. He licked his lips menacingly, still holding the smile perfectly through and through. _


	6. Never Had A Friend Like Me

_"So tell me...how does a young man...such...as yourself. End up in the same room as a guy...like me. I mean I could place my bets on hell freezing over or a worldwide shortage of loneliness in the world...in which case, i'm flattered but personally...the last "buddy" they gave me ended up wrapped up in Christmas tinsel. I mean, who doesn't want an early Christmas gift, especially when you get to help."_ He threateningly teased as he rocked back an forth against the confines of his padded room, restricted by the chains on his ankles and the straight jacket applied with care.

_"...does it matter...?"_ I echoed in as hush of a voice as I could, causing a boisterous uproar from my counterpart, you now seemed to be spazzing about on the floor, almost unrestrained by the practically limitless amount of shackles he had on his being.

**(It's rather commonplace to have traditions, whether it be associated with a holiday or just a habit of nature that just so happens to revolve around in an ongoing loop. I remember a few friends telling me of the usual faire, just as banging pots around New Year's or decorating a tree around Christmas time, while I myself had been placed in a household where things had been a tad more cynical and atypical for as long as I could remember. We held off on our shopping around the holidays, or what was considered to be the "annual holiday clusterfuck" in the Welman residence, in order to obtain a more financially responsible gift detail. Myself personally, have only seen one thing remain constant over the years, and that's that I have been dumped in the days preceding my birthday every single year.**

**At first, it was seen as a fluke and something not to be taken seriously, but as time went on I started to realize that I found myself in the same place each an every year at the time. Family and friends asking where I was going with my significant other on a day of celebrating my place in the world, and I would stand there dumbfounded and have to tell them that we had broken up just prior. The reasons? They ranged anything from growing apart to possible accusations of infidelity, all of which were false (in case you were wondering), and often would come out of nowhere. In each instance, I sat there in the wake of the sudden turn of events and make the best of it, taking turns gaining a further knowledge of how it feels to guzzle down birthday cake mid-cry. But I got through. Well...except for the fourth time.**

**Her name was Lilly, a lower class girl who basically had been raised on goodwill and the flea markets of the world, seeing more then most people would ever think possible. A mid-length mane of dirty blond hair fell in shambles, not even in that sort of fake disorganization that magazines offer, but true unbaptized craziness. But despite the way I might be seeming to make her sound, she could dazzle you with the way she could manipulate you in one instant to the point of smacking her upside the head, yet know every move you could ever make in the next. She was beyond the confines of life itself. She was life itself. The way her eyes lit up at the mention of something she truly longed for, the blunt characterizations that she would give to people no matter how much they seemed to intimidate others, the way she would listen to anyone blabber for hours about anything that bothered them...and not even break a sweat.**

**We used to take long walks in the middle of the streets at night, the faint glimmer of the nights sky to give us direction, although we often would ignore it for something that sounded more exhilarating. There wasn't a purpose, there didn't need to be, we were together and at times in the total silence of the night just wasting time in a world that was never any more perfect then in that exact moment. For months she has urged me to merely give her the chance to make me happy, and for nearly a year I denied the offer out of fear, but in the end of that next winter we were at long last together. About six months later...she told me that she had become pregnant.**

**You couldn't imagine the look on her face in that moment, when the strongest person you would ever see finally gave way, not to any waterworks but to simple melancholy. The light was gone, no shine or twinkle to be seen as she told me that she had little to no hope of the baby surviving, but she could feel it inside of her pulsating and with it...she grew sicker. We decided that it would be placed for adoption when the time came, with our minds fully set on it surviving and it finding the home it deserved. Her own oddball mindset being that she had believed in the will of a person overcoming medicine, and it was one her most beautiful qualities. imagination.**

**About three months after finding out about the pregnancy, I was graced with the knowledge that there was, in fact, two of them inside of her. A boy and a girl. But despite this we were much more urgently informed that one of them...had died in the womb...and the other was to leave with it shortly after. The weeks of fighting and disagreements, never overblown and keeping to a simple mantra that held us together, that no matter what I would be there beside her however I could. If all else fell apart, and the ground gave way to hell on earth on all sides, it could not deny us the sheer fact of our own togetherness. But all was not as it seemed. And in one day, it all came crashing down around me much like I just described, all due to a simple question. One I would give anything to just take back.**

**_"...it isn't healthy, Brian...I can't make you happy...we cant keep doing this..."_**

**_"Please...don't do this...I love you..."_**

**_"Brian...I don't honestly believe you know what love is..."_**

**We give a piece of ourselves in love, hell, if we didn't then we truly didn't care nearly as much as we had led on. But when it ends...those pieces wither in the most gut-wrenching ways imaginable...and then in time you learn to live without, to not expect their smell, or sight. We learn to move on. It is said that we are supposed to feel such excessive pains in order to properly discover our full selves, and grown internally an emotionally. But after such an extent, much like a pump an levy, there is the opportunity for breaks within. Our wounded selves once again grow to compensate, and move on. Grow. But what dare I ask have we grown into in our lives final frame?)**

"of course it matters...it all matters to me. Well, except for my social security number, who's going to win the next presidential election, and whether or not there are, in fact, hot singles in my area who are just waiting to meet me! Trust me...I've got nine inches that says that their not being...uh...legitimate. Get you're head out of the gutter...what? you aren't in there? Well...then you're just no fun." There was time for one last cackle before a sequence of heavy footsteps greeted us as the door opened, giving me light on my surroundings properly for the first time. A large, muscular man in all white attire, admirably enough with a belt attached at the waist with pepper spray, a Taser, and a trank gun plus rounds in tow. A voice coming from him like something out of the most masculine images you could ever imagine, so needless to say...he wasn't on my list of people to fuck with.

"You're awake...both of you. The doctor would like to see you."

"Ooooooh...does this mean it's time for another one of those beloved therapy sessions again...or maybe just a checkup? I'll gladly drop my pants..."

"Not you, freak! I don't know why the hell you decided on today to wake your ass up, but you are going to stay right here until you decide when its a good time to die!"

I was raised to my feet, shakily holding my ground against the floor that moved more to the tune of a waterbed then anything else, but then again it made sense that this wouldn't give way against unruly or harmful behavior. My brutish fellow beside me, I was motioned to lead out into the hallway, but not before my leg was taken out by the knee of my loony bunkmate, who I now saw in more fashionable light, with a dim and extremely faded shade of green in his hair. His eyes pierced into mine, words flowing out with the artistry of the devil himself with his forked tongue.

_"...the most desperate of men are to be feared the most...you don't cross the street in most cases in fear of being hit by a car. But to the desperate man...there are no cars, or pain, or death...there is nothing the world but the light at the end of the tunnel, and everything else that stands in his way. What lies at the end of the tunnel you say? Well...I honestly don't know...it could be Pamela Anderson pre-Kid Rock for all we know...or a rubber fish. Im making an analogy as I go here. It'd be nice to get a bit more credit and less...uh...discriminate narration *high pitched laughter which then falls dead silent in a matter of seconds, a deep breathy voice comes forth* those eyes...I like you're style."_


	7. The Killing Joke (Part Two)

There are fewer instances where a person would feel as fearful, then the one I was in right now, whether it be the quizzical nature of my being sprung from my enclosure or just the threatening demeanor of my guardian. Little to nothing changed from him either, leading my away from my chambers and down the long and winding corridors with a pace that I had never quite been able to match, stumbling over my own two feet as I tried to do so. Silence surrounded us until we found ourselves at the very end of the expansive hallway, which all this time had been housing offices on either side, each showing signs of almost evolutionary wear and tear...but I feel the establishment cared little for décor. That is, one would have assumed such from the lack of decoration on any single piece of the place, except for one.

The last door on the left was so different from each and every door before it that it almost appeared to stand before me as a testament to my own ability to distinguish differences in the landscape around me. Sure, much like the rest, there was a wood grain base, slightly faded colors and a thickness to the contraption that meant that no one could hear you scream from the outside. The doorknob was a posh, polished brass that shined from the subtle cues of the light creeping in from here or there, and to complement the set was a golden plaque halfway up the door. It read "PhD. Hugo Strange, Assistant Director" in all engraved lettering. And from the looks of it, strange was being rather faithful in his duties to his namesake, the door swinging open to a flashy and over-the-top pair of spectacles that would make Steve Urkle blush greet me.

His hair was a close match to my own, an almost jet black brown if you found the right lighting, and a slender build giving away far too easily that his head of hair was receding faster then Napoleon in a game of pinochle. To him, rifling through a stack of papers seemed to be as exciting as a pair of tickets to the world series, as he paid no mind to me as I was escorted to have a seat. In moments my musclebound chaperone was nowhere to be seen, having been silently dismissed into the nothingness that was behind me. But to be fair it was mostly my fault here, as my mind was incapable of the extra figuring at this point, and in the then and now...there was no such thing as outside my immediate surroundings. Hell, I was stretching the limits of my energy to simply be thus far, but something pressed me further onward.

"Good evening, Mr. Welman. It is...most unusual to see you up and about. It was not expected that your condition would improve, none the less a full remission. Do...do you know how long you have been gone for?" A thick accent escaped with every breathe, my best guess was Russian but im not exactly a well-versed source for language translation.

"...Gone...?" If I wasn't the one in the situation, things may have been made to seem a tad bit overdramatic in context, but yet all the same it felt just as time consuming to mutter the words.

"You do not remember...anything, do you? We have discussed this at great length, Mr. Welman. Approximately eight months ago you began to experience catatonic episodes, which you had described as out of body experiences, in your own words, you felt "gone." I have felt that we had created a fair amount of progress in our sessions, and with the recommendation of myself, and the hospital board. We have felt an interest in letting you be released."

What he hadn't known was that those periods of time had actually occurred long before then, but in the same way that a used car salesman glosses over details, it is often in ones best interest to stretch the boundaries of accuracy. When he had first encountered them, I had little choice in the matter, and I don't remember it all clearly...but what I can tell you is that things had gotten far beyond my ability to control. My loved ones had expressed interest in helping in any way that they could, and even after my being committed they sent cards and campaigned to see my in person, but in time the crowds dwindled...and I was alone once more. But it was of no concern of mine, as they had been better without my presence, and in the darkest moments I dwelled on them and where they had been in my absence. Besides, it was my idea all along to admit myself.

But to be released? The loneliness wasn't coming to rear its ugly head, and the swelling feeling from merely being around people hadn't shown itself, was I perhaps better as he said? Well, would you be healed with the lone addition of a lack of sensation? There is a massive distinction between ones pain persisting to exist, and the fact of it subsiding...the day was young. In the very least, there was something about the whole thing that didn't seem right...and his poor grooming skills and lack of fashion sense was only the start of it.

"Wha-...why would you? Why would you choose to release me now?" The words were still coming along about as slowly as I was thinking them, but nevertheless things were starting to steady in my mind.

"Well Mr. Welman, this hospital is very large...and at times we deem it necessary to release patients that we feel we have helped all that we can. There is expression, in this country, pay it forward, no? Sometimes, if we let go out those who we have already helped...perhaps they will in time assist us." He was looking straight at me...as if he had caught me stealing out of his cookie jar or something, and as much as I loved sweets I wasn't looking to be shot up the ass with heavy duty sedative

"...i'm still not following." I admitted.

"You were given a roommate, no? Let's just say that much like yourself, we can do no more for him. He has become...how do you say it...a liability. And we would like to release you...on the condition that you...release him."

When I was fifteen years old, my parents had decided to at long last silence my constant complaints over why they had never gotten a dog. Year after year, for as long as I could remember I would have slideshows and graphs, all with information accurately enough pulled from accredited sources, waiting for them when they arrived home from work. There's a certain nuance to the pleas of someone who desires something so desperately that they would alter their entire way of life just to pursue making dream into reality, for as much as they might have had legitimate reasons for why they wouldn't budge...they never once questioned my resolve in the matter. He was an older dog, about nine years old the day they brought him home, no doubt their way of giving me the training wheels equivalent of doggy healthcare but I loved it all the same. His name was Bernie, and despite the ever prevalent notion that he seemed to spend 90% of his time hating everything in existence, and the other ten was spared for showing just how much I annoyed him. But hey, its kind of that affection that only kindergarteners truly understand.

I believe he was twelve when it happened though. When things seemed to take a turn for the worse. His vision was going, and at times it seemed like he had lost all awareness of his surroundings, but no matter his pain he stood by our side. He was a creature who held in his one paw more respectfulness then most of the world I have had the pleasure of witnessing. And it didn't help all that much that I had the attention span of a moth, and to make matters worse since it was then considered "my dog" then it was solely my job to care for him. One day I took him outside so that he could do his business, and it was in the dead of winter with a snowstorm blowing violently and a thick frost hung over the air that made me vehemently envious of his fur coat. I must have been called away or caught off guard by something, and I found myself going about my day as if nothing had ever happened, that is until my parents came to my room to tell me that Bernie was nowhere to be seen and hadn't been for hours. Im a nerd with a physical ability of a spider on roller-skates, but at that instant you wouldn't believe how fast I bolted out the door, fearful of what I might find. After twenty minutes of searching and deciphering half-dollar shaped paw prints, I found him trying as hard as he could to dig himself out of an embankment.

I've never ever been one to be handed instances where I found myself in the face of death, and where I was even close to it, I fought to give that person a chance at life because it was the least that they deserved. If there was one thing I had learned, is that there is darkness, as well as light, and the difference between depression and enlightenment is just whether or not you can move fast enough to keep in its gazes. I didn't want Bernie to die in the frozen summit, and I never wanted to be the bringer of anyone's demise, whether it be my acentric roommates...or my own. But in the depths of his cornea I could see a restlessness that was calling for the orderly to return me to my room before I could really manage to give the good doctor a decent response, not that I came up with one on the walk back. Words weren't needed, the offer had been made, and now it was all on me to decide what happens now. A glint of sheen reflecting off of a six inch switchblade that now was tucked into my sleeve, much like myself at present, simply awaiting orders.


	8. He Who Watches the Watcher

_"Listen, part of becoming who you want to be, for what may be the rest of your life, is simply being it. Living in the skin you own and feeling the way that only you can know you are supposed to feel. I cant always be the one to choose the path for you, nor would I want that for you, and as muchas I may fight with you over your choices, they are yours to make. All I ask...is that you find your own way. Just know that no matter what, you are my son, and I will be here beside you. And wherever you end up, you wont be alone. I am proud of you. "_

Back in my earlier years, I found a fondness for poetry, and there was a certain rush that I would feel when I found my feelings create rhythm and structure on paper. Everything in my head was such a mess of sensation and expressiveness that never truly took a shape, or at least non of which others understood. I loved a bit of romance, a dash of darkness, but above all I asked for my poems to have a sense of truth throughout. For me, something could be sweet and innocent, but without a meaning or bit of sincerity...it didn't mean anything to me. While others would labor over the poetry readings and projects in English class, I would delight over making short stories layered in ambiguity that challenged others to deduce what it was all about. It even aided me in the darkest of times.

Far and away, my all time favorite author and poet was and still is Charles Bukowski, who spent his days as a raging alcoholic and his nights as a suave womanizer who had seen the horrors of life and yet found a way to the light. You see, his work focused on the dark reality that we all find ourselves protecting ourselves from each day, but yet he knew it all and had simply laughed in the face of their fear. But amidst all of this dreary and Poe-esque imagery, he would always seem to find himself lost in the naivety and ones early endeavors into love, losing their minds at the inevitable loss and falling headfirst into the bliss that served as the appetizer to the bitter main course. One such poem, which to this day still manages to stay on my mind when I lose sight of the here and now and drift away, is called 'The Most Beautiful Woman in Town.' And in it he finds himself entangled in the clutches of an oddly insatiable vixen who takes him to a place of happiness which he never felt would end, only for her die soon after a few secret rendezvous. And Charles ends with one last line..._the night kept coming and there was nothing that I could do_.

The morning came with a sense of ferocity of the likes of which I had never seen, two orderlies who would have given me diabetes if they were any sweeter entering my room and jostling me back into the land of the living, informing me that I was to be released within the next hour. Promptly afterwards I was given a small bag of clothes and a small assortments of personal affects which I had honestly forgotten I even brought with me. The simple task of putting them back on felt oddly out of place, as if I was just wearing a costume, or borrowing the clothes of another without any real attachment involved. I was then informed to walk a short bit through the main gates, and wait on a small wicker bench on the edge of the premises until my ride home arrived. Strangely enough, I wasn't really certain of who that ride would come from, seeing as prior to arriving here, which had been almost a year ago, I was on bad terms with almost everyone I could think of asking.

_A whole year..._it took longer then it probably should to fully settle in, but the home I had left behind was left to go onward for a whole year. Was it all just a chance to start anew? Or was it not time enough, and my renewal just a means of reopening half-healed wounds? Much like the wise Bukowski, all you can do is keep moving and recognize that there is nothing more that can be done. A car approached and even manage to slow to a halt in the midst of my melodramatic pondering, a rather disheveled and dingy baby-blue colored Honda Wagon to be exact, and while I don't know anything about cars i'd be able to pick that car out anywhere. The driver exiting soon after and greeting me with a sly grin, not so much of the "used car salesman" type of sly, but of more of the look a kid gives when he knows he can get away with something. I rise to greet him with a smile as well, the enthusiasm far more tapered down, but its the thought that counts, right? The two of us hug briefly with as much male bravado as we can muster, and he pulls away to get a better look at the tattered clothing I was sporting.

"You crazy son of a bitch! You look awful...although your fashion sense is about as good as it always was."

"It's nice to see that you still haven't lost your sense of humor, Michael. Although you're starting to look your age, piss anyone else off lately?" I stated sarcastically, which in earnest was actually something I had to hand him some credit for. For as much as he hated to admit his age (which is forty-two by the way,) he never seemed to have any tells to show it, save for the dark circles that made him look like he was permanently wearing eye liner.

"If you must know, i'm just doing what I do best, living and living fast. See that's what everyone doesn't understand, the faster you live, the faster you get what you deserve, whatever you get...you've gotta get fast." He always had a bit of a new Yorker-ish accent, although I think he was the only person born with a fake-sounding accent. Maybe he was born with something going against him, or he was meant to be the best person to have at a bar at three am when he's bumbling over the stools after chugging a fifth of vodka. Don't ask, my birthdays are just crazier then most.

"With that attitude, I can see why you're such a hit with the ladies."

"Alright, Hannibal. Get your ass in the car before I change my mind about being your ride home. You hungry?" He asked me eagerly, obviously he was and in most cases he bought without the slightest hesitation, not that I didn't attempt to pay for it from time to time. But right about now I was perusing through my wallet and seeing and finding a grand total(drum roll if you're feeling it) of four bucks on me, so in this case it was a bit essential that I have a donation given to the "ex crazy is hungry" fund. Plus, what's a better way to get something thinking about their next meal then mentioning cannibalism seconds before it? I know, his humor is hit or miss. But it gets easier to deal with in time.

"Yeah, im starving." I replied as I hopped into his car via an open window general lee style, much to his initial dismay, which looked like he witnessing lobsters crawling out of my ears. Settling down into my seat and strapping myself in, I looked out the window intently as we drove off. A long way back to the city, and for early morning the skylines and city lights were faint, but I could almost reach them. I didn't look back at where I had been, only forward. There was nothing more I could do. I thought to myself as I closed my eyes tightly, _alright Charles...what happens next?_


	9. Top Dollar, Blue Collar

There are many, many traditions in any chain of command, whether it be in the case of something domestic or private. Rules and regulations are established for a reason, and they are clutched tightly by those who feel the safest by their existence, but in the world today there are few times where a human being is ever safe. Dangers lurk in every inch of the landscapes that we scale, and simply learn the art of delusion to mark ourselves with conditions of non-threatening circumstance, believing that in the end we hold power enough to counter balance even fate itself in our favor. But mankind is often far more arrogant then intelligent.

At the moment, it would be a difficult task to find a more fine tuned example of arrogance and overcompensation in ones own ability then within the confines of the Gotham City Borough Hall, which as a building itself was a national landmark but also the setting for all major police committee meetings. In more ways then one it was an odd location for such important tasks as the interworking's of a metropolis's defenders of justice, especially given the reputation that had followed them as troublingly as ones own shadow. A stale and uncomfortable aura filled the air, frustration and panic bringing what would usually be a ho-hum occasion of a few dozen officials into a screaming match between only a handful of officers and some more decorated men bringing things back into focus every now and again. At the eye of the storm were two men, dressed to impress in formal attire, with one wearing his uniform with over a dozen medals attached and his counterpart wearing an outfit more akin to a detective then anything else. The more casual man sat down in his sit and interlocked his fingers, deep in thought and unsure of what to say to keep the tension in the room from building.

That troubled man was none other then James Gordon, a seasoned member of the force and most importantly, the Police Commissioner of Gotham's finest. A furrowed brow and a somewhat discouraging amount of facial hair sporting his face, which in combination with his messy hair and somewhat slow tone gave a look of the concern to his comrades in blue. To the right of him was Melvin Aponte, a far more strict and by-the-book member of the department, who seemed to rather die then show up to a function wearing any less then a finely ironed outfit. Only a deputy chief however, despite having been on the force slightly longer then Gordon had, a fact that he swallowed with pride and only mentioned to himself in the mirror when he was alone. Not one to step on toes, that is, unless he knew he had the power to recover from the reprisal. To him it was like being the president of a country, and if you were to launch any sign of aggression against someone, having prior disagreements or otherwise, you had better be prepared for war. And if not, then you tuck your tail between your legs and you move on.

"How many do we have...confirmed dead?" Melvin inquired, looking at the one lowely officer who had been filling him in all this time, while Gordon still remained silent.

"We have some more we need to salvage, but we've counted just over a hundred at the moment, including Sargent Wesgrove and Captain Anderson."

There was a pain behind the words, and if either of them had seen what remained of the Gotham Police Station, they too would understand that same pain. For just five hours prior, an attack left a third of the structure as flattened as a pancake, and the remainder was a grim bloodbath on par with the worst horror stories of even the most trained. The first half of the attack seemed to be fairly unusual and mostly clean, resulting in little bloodshed and most of the staff merely incapacitated rather then executed. But at some point it appeared that something changed, and the three confirmed assailaints descended upon the rest of them without a single shred of mercy...leaving destruction and mutilated bodies in their wake. Although the attack had originally seemed to have not made any sense, one thing had been clear, and that was that they were trying desperately to get into the basement of the station which had house the evidence lockers. And after the trio left, nothing remained.

"Listen, the one thing that we need to do right now, is not make this into any more of a circus then it already is. Okay? I want full detail attached to the press, tell them that there was an attack, but tell them that we have the entire situation under control and that we are investigating as we speak! Is that clear!?" The Commissioner bellowed as he stood up willfully and barked into the faces of the lot of them, showing just how severe the circumstances were. "Now move out, all of you."

The underlings dispersed one by one, somewhat unnerved but also aware of the rage that might come from their superiors if they hadn't flown the coupe. In minutes the only people left remaining were Melvin and James, of which had been looking to make his way over towards the door himself, however Aponte tugged on his alarm and stopped him from doing so. There was a certain look of malice in place, and from the look of things he had noticed what had been very obvious earlier, Gordon was well past hung over. Not to mention the numerous times in the past month of which he had spent extra hours at the station, pouring over old catalogues of documentation on the so called "Batman." Of which they had both staked a fair amount of trust in, and also had not seen or heard from in months. At times people had even complained of hearing what sounded like things be thrown, but it was later found out to just be James...trashing his own office in pure desperation.

"Your wife might have left you, but that gives you little right to come into work drunk, half lit, or hung over. I had to even call you in to give you the status update for this little shindig. And if you don't watch yourself, you're going to catch a bad break." He forewarned the commissioner, as he wiggled his arm out of his grasp and started making his way towards the exit.

He turned around and faced him before leaving, hoping to clear the air with a last piece of his mind. "You think things are bad now...if you get what you want...Gotham will burn to the ground."


	10. Such Wicked Little Things

As grimy and unkempt as the underbelly of Gotham was, there always seemed to be a piece here and there that still called back to the days of hard work and pride in ones own craftsmanship. Old buildings conditioned with weathered brick and mortar, stain glass window pains with beautiful artwork which would tell the tales of old gods and beasts no one would care about unless they were trying to take an exam and pass with flying colors and a glowing resultation from their professor. To practically everyone else in the area, it was nothing more then a moniker that there had not been a sign of reputable life for quite some time, and that all who choose to dwell there are doing so at their own risk. Dangerous types would often be the few and far between that would slink into the shadows of the blind spots of the cities justice system, completely out of sight, regardless of the fact that if they would never be found if the worst were to happened.

One such hovel, in the early thirties, had been a fairly regal looking church and daycare center. Mainly funded by the seers of the Wayne foundation, on the basic principal that education and a roof over ones head was not to be determined by ones social class. In the eighties, with crime skyrocketing, the various organizations that had assembled there felt it was no longer a profitable decision to be associated with a location known for such riff-raff. So, it was decided that Saint Geneva Ministry would abandon the site, and in doing so creating an unstable element which often offered a suitable meeting ground for the mafia as well as other facets of various crime syndicates over the years. Rather ironic, seeing as a temple of enlightenment and hope for peace was then abandoned so sin and refuse could swell, and what was once without now lurked within. Graffiti lining the walls in a display that at times would appeal to the ascetic of an art gallery, while some rooms were more akin to hate speech, one young woman gleefully sat in the rubble of a rickety pew.

No fanciful attire. No real distinguishable piece to her lifestyle or fashion. Just the way she liked it. More then anything else, she hated the idea of succumbing to normalcy, and at all costs she strived to differentiate from the masses as much as possible, and blending in to the background. At only eighteen, she held a far more mature ideology then any of her peers in school, and because of such grew a certain disdain towards them. In fact, she hated others her age, and just the world itself to such an extent that she had only allowed herself to have one friend. One person to hear her worries, her fears, and at times just her inane babblings when she felt that words were a fair way to just get something out in the open, and for the first time ever she truly felt understood and even longed for her schoolmate to be around more often. A tall, slender girl, but still curvy to some measure, who was the same age as her named Harley had been the only person she had ever told about making this abandoned crime scene into her own little home away from home.

Her father was part of a science division at a local university, and because of such he was rarely ever home or, in the very least, free to be out and about to spend much time with her. But whenever he could, the two of them maintained a small greenhouse in the attic, which was fairly makeshift. Nonetheless, they experimented in soils and herbs and just learned of the wonders of the world to their hearts content. Even when as frustrated or angered by her father as she had been lately, she could not take away from her memory all that he had taught her. One day after he arrived home from a long day or coursework and grading papers, she had asked about the greenhouse and when the next time they would begin another project was, to which he replied that he had taught her all that he could. But not before clarifying that there was a world for her to explore and test her theories on...and by god she would. By god she would.

"You're not very subtle you know...your footsteps sound like an elephant walking on bubble wrap. And your late, just pointing it out because I can." She quipped as she tried to stick her tongue out at her friend without turning around to face her, and without her realizing such. Mostly all done with little success, as a ray of sunlight shone through a partially boarded up window and brought a blonde glow into her field of vision.

"Eh...well maybe i'm just taking it easy on all of the "ninja assassination" training? Besides, wouldn't make much sense assassinating you, now does it? What about when I take over the world, now you know all that power'll go straight to my head without at least one red by my side. Aint that right Pam?" Harley mused as she put both hand on her hips as if posing for a photo no one was going to take, a smile coming on that was so thick that her cheeks were almost reseeding into her teeth.

"So what did Mr. Handcheck have to say to you? Oh wait...let me guess, it has something to do with your recent crush doesn't it?" She stated with far more assurance then most would when asking a question, her eyes on her friend while her hands were focused toiling a small pot of soil and nudging a few seeds into place.

"They just don't understand...not her...not this city...and sure as hell not our school!" Harley was furious at the very mention of it, but at the same time the fumes were helping to level off by the end of it.

The public school system would most assuredly not be very understanding of her newfound affection towards a person who had been labeled as a terrorist, despite his face paint and eyeliner providing a less serious aura about him. They called him the Joker, mostly because there was nothing else to denote him as, going the extra mile with a gambit of tests and background checks and coming up empty...but to her those details were just icing on top of the whole package. Her entire life she had been picked on her name, and its closeness to a similar type of doll which had a striking resemblance to clowns, and in the times she heard his feelings towards the world she finally felt that she found another who knew the truth. But alas, she was in the midst of high school and he in prison, and at times she felt like she could sense he was closer to her then she could imagine. Always the hopeless romantic, and in every instance applicable Pamela would rub it in that she had chosen a psychopath out of reach when she truly could have anyone she desired. It is possible that her relationship with her mother, and her distaste towards her own promiscuous nature would leave little room for respect.

"You know Harls...you might not like your mom's way of doing things...but a little touch can go a long way. What if I helped you out a bit?"

"No thanks, I don't plan to lose my dignity." She replied with a loud humph.

"Relax...it's not being a girl with loose morals...it's just being a woman who knows how to get what she wants." Her hands left the pot and now rested against her friends face ever so gently, there was a subtle bit of pained brevity in her voice over every syllable. "...besides, I think I know how I can get your hubby to notice you."

"Wha...I'll have you know that I would never call him hubby! It's...emasculating for him! I prefer...puddin'." She combatively told her at a near yell, a gleeful giggle overcoming her.


	11. Homecoming

_"...continue to investigate further into the incident...number of confirmed dead is unknown, however...Commissioner Gordon made a statement this morning...to worry. That all is...control...all that is needed is time for the GCPD...do their jobs. In other...billionaire Bruce Wayne was reportedly seen leaving...plane traveling to Europe...statement from a Wayne representative has told the media that he has decided to take a vacation after the events of Tuesdays attacks."_

"Yeah, how does it not surprise me that the richest man in Gotham jumps ship when something awful happens? Things get alittle too real for you Bruce? Gimme a break." Michael vented to himself, grimacing at the radio even though he knew it wouldn't have anything to say back.

My eyes were opening weakly, mostly covered in dust from the longevity of my slumber, to discover that we were back and the lights which served as a beacon now surrounded us. My memory was still a bit cloudy and disorientation took me, looking all about and letting it all sink in as if my eyes were seeing it for the first time all over again, mentally noting to myself where the alleyways ended and the streets began. As far as the car's clock was concerned it was just after midnight, but something about the dead silence of the streets made it seem far later. But if there was one thing I could tell as a fact for as long as I would live, Gotham was one of the few places that you never, ever believed the silence. Normally, there were far more people out and about no mater how it looked or the time of night, they just weren't the types of people you'd want to be associated with. Not always, mind you, not in my game plan to make the lot of them out to be criminals, as some of my best friends growing up here were a bit shady. And it's ot their fault, desperation breeds thieves, and then prisons house them while their only crime was living in a world which set them up for failure from the very second they were conceived.

"Well, you definitely slept long enough, I thought i'd be celebrating your trip back home all by myself. Of course, with the random garbled sounds of snoring and you drooling all over the place to keep me company. We'll be at my place in a couple minutes, it's a bit better then the last shithole I lived in." Michael explained groggily, as much of a trooper as I knew him to be he was in no condition to go partying tonight.

"Should be fun, *yawn* I've never seen an 'impressive shithole' before." I pointed out as I tried to stretch a bit and regain my barring's, my counterpart wanting to chuckle but only managing a slight smirk, his energy all but drained.

Michael went to school for more years then a man of his nature had any business doing, but then again I often mused that maybe the former was the causer of the ladder, and he was really just painfully jaded. After nearly fifteen years and college he found himself sitting comfortably as a general practitioner in the underbelly of Gotham, although he proudly could say he was well regarded amongst the poor as well as the well to do. For years he would use outlandish amounts of gas in order to make house calls no matter the area, but after the one night he got mugged by a couple who simply pretended to need help delivering a baby...he felt a bit more discretion was needed. These days he mostly dealt with high end clientele, or at least that was what I knew of him a year ago. He would never admit it, but night when he faced the true nature of this city and felt the cold steel against the back of his head, he finally gave up trying to ignore the truth. I was never a religious person, nor will I ever be, but if there ever was a Sodom and Gomorra, it's spirit lives anew in my own backyard.

The car screeched to a halt once more and we found ourselves outside of a towering apartment complex, mainly plain brick and mortar although in parts it seemed like they had tried to do repairs and just placed any bricks they could find where need be. Yes, more red and maroon then anything, but then more curiously there was splotches of yellow and blue and most odd...black. Michael pushed a small button next to the door and a voice came over a small speaker on the opposite side, strangely enough far newer then anything else on the entire structure, and most likely installed within the last month. We were buzzed in and a loud click could be heard as the front door to the lobby unlocked itself, and we made our way up the stairs with my belongings in tow, quickly learning to hate my friends new apartment for nothing more then the dozen flights of stairs it took just to get to his pad. I found myself panting by floor seven, while he just seemed to press onward, although I have a theory that there's only so much wear a person can take...and then they become invincible. On second thought, that sounds ridiculous.

"Hey...Michael...what were renting this fucking apartment from the hunchback of Notre Dame of something?" I teased as we rounded the last set of stairs and he fiddled with a nearly full-to-burst keychain in his pocket. "What? Was your first thought to just murder a janitor and steal his keys? Well, at least you're not a ninja or something that requires stealth."

"Will you shut up? This coming from the guy who has two styles right now? Let's see..."I forgot to take my pills" and "can you spare me some change?" He fired back faster then I had expected, my breathing returned to normal as he found the key he had been looking for and opened the door to his loft.

Surprisingly enough, since the last time I managed to be under the same roof as him, things were a tad bit more organized. That being said, there isn't much that could have been improved upon when your starting point for making a difference is "quelling the fears that something was living under the sacks of clothing" which were once all over the floor. He was a bachelor and i'm sure he cleaned up when he would entertain, but I think I can count on one hand the number of times I saw him bring somebody home. Those few times though, I wont fault the guy on taste. It was like watching an animal longing for food yet always leaving hungry, as while there are other options, he refused to settle for anything less then his own vision of beauty. A bit misogynistic at times, but he was admirable at the worst of times. The old soul shambled past me in a daze and made his way over to a dingy, yet artfully tacky couch on the far side of the room, trying to stay awake for just a few more seconds as he tried to speak to me once more. His body protesting all the way through.

"There's...a guest room at the end of the...hall. I'm going to...take you out tomorrow...to celebrate. I...have to talk to you then." He said absent mindedly as he finally gave into slumber for the night. And exactly as he said, I found a room down the hall, empty save for a bed and a single dresser. My body hit it as if I was trying to maximize the impact when I at long last hit the soft silk. My mind had much to think on, but tomorrow was another day.


	12. A Gentlemen's Game Part 1

I met a girl once, well, ive actually met a lot of them but this one was a little different when you get down to brass taxes. Often our interactions consisted of little more then me ridiculing her, but you know what they say about a young boys captivation, it lays within those of which you make fun of the most. She was Mexican, or perhaps it was Ecuadorian, I cant really put my finger on what's reality and what was just a lovely dream anymore. From the outside looking in, I treated her terribly, but if you were there and understood that the jokes farmed a foundation for trust within the midst of vulnerability. There was this small bar in town which held karaoke each and every Tuesday night, certain riffraff which I am in relation to changed that from time to time, but still to this day I believe that it still remains. From therein I lay the groundwork for my scene.

In the heat of the mixture of spirits and poorly lit furniture, offset by humorously bad renditions of popular chart toppers covered in ways that only the sullen and intoxicated could manage. We stood united as the best of friends in a time of indecision, surrounded by the faded and those only looking for the next best way to have a good time, ear pieces casting an umbrella over the torrential downpour of factuality. She didn't always have the best taste in her exploits, although there's some sort of trend emerging here, but in the conception of our acquaintance she fell for me. You might be asking what kind of problem would postpone my taking her up on such an offer? Well, another correlation that shouldn't be a shocker at this point, I never came to the thought of sharing my feelings because I was oblivious to hers, and paid no attention as a result of such. So I went and moved onward, chasing women of loose morals, low cut skirts, and eye liner in such excess that would even cause the likes of Marilyn Manson to call for conservation.

And what of her? Did such a fine specimen, such a dulcet and majestic woman of class go free in a world of able and willing suitors? Well, in time she was nothing more to me then the best friend a guy could ever have. Some time later I finally committed to telling her how I had felt, loosening the noose that was lowering me ever steadily into the abyss, but by that time she had found another lover who made her the happiest that she had ever been. A year into this seemingly torrid love affair, it was my cue to take the emotions back into the ever enduring vault of non-compliance and forget their existence, the past nothing more then a stale and fading memento of what once was. One morning I looked at myself in the mirror and became puzzled by what I had seen, as I, a man who at one point had appeared to garner the attention of a fair amount of the female element around me, now was a broken record in a ballroom full of persons tiring of my song. At the very core, I think I could that the same fatigue too. I found some comfort in the fact of seeing that light which seemed to catch her eyes every other instance, and as much I felt pressured to give in to the melancholy air that tried to fill my lungs, a better nature shown through.

You wouldn't believe the sheer number of times I hear that there was nothing I could do, and that in the end I had managed to do the "right thing." But if it was so justified then why am I feeling so immersed in a whirlpool of frustration and regret? The options leading me down more malicious paths were not unknown to me, but I had also learned in that familiarity that there is no winner in those scenarios. But yet, that's a story for another day. The days passed one after another, with little care or thought or relent, and they began to plan their lives together as my essence longer to slip further and further into isolation absolute. I was happy, and sadness had not managed to penetrate the core of the contentment I had established. So why on earth have I been telling you this story seemingly out of context and without any meaning whatsoever? I have thoughts that I need to get out, and some of them just break the levy of the mind and pool at inopportune times. But most rationally, after the lot of what happened this day, none of it seemed to stay with more concrete conclusiveness then our reunion.

Michael woke me up earlier then anyone under the age of infinity has any business being up at, claiming that his supposed fruitful efforts had been to give me a day of being out and about. A giddiness was very apparent in his voice and actions, the last time I had heard such was when he realized that he could sneak me into the bar with him years prior...it had something to do with my grub on my face throwing off concerns of whether or not I was underage. Honestly, its better not to ask. We first set out getting some breakfast in town, a small diner that i'll admit was given some notable bonus points in the light of day. Not particularly the restaurants fault in the matter, its just always been my nature that diners were put on this earth to give people craving pancakes at ungodly hours of the night a place to slink to and call home for an hour or so. Let's see, after that he treated me to a movie at the local Cineplex, the choice of movie was nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the onslaught of mindless sex and explosion fests of Hollywood's underbelly. In other words, it was a beauty of American cinema. The sun began to make its way downward as the hour struck five, our final destination of the day being the Clifton Heights Mall, which wouldn't seem like such an awful name had it not been for the fact that everyone and their mother knew was fronted by the mafia. I guess "shoplift and you're to be sent into the river with cement shoes" mall wasn't nearly as catchy. Their loss.

So, for anyone who doesn't live in the central Gotham area and doesn't have a mental image of how the place is set up, the layout can only be described as a horseshoe. And I swear, I'm not kidding, it's a fucking horseshoe. A straight line which only has a continuation stemming off of both ends which also go in a straight line but just doesn't have as much runtime as the middle. Well, that plus there's a second floor with the exact same layout stacked atop of it, where basically most people would go to eat at the food court or occasionally shop for a couch. Michael and I journeyed as far as the entire first floor, mostly bickering about which shops were worth the time to enter and casually discussing what, if anything I was interested in seeking out while we were here. At the time, it was the first chance I actually got to check what day it was, and much to my surprise I managed to exit a looney bin days before Halloween. Huh, built in costume. I think that has to be worth some points, or at the very least the quips kept my mood high and had myself smiling throughout most of the time we spent. The walls seemed to blur together, and to me that meant that it was time enough to leave the mall for a location of fresher atmosphere, but with Michaels reminder in place about it being a few days from the night of the dead I left him in the food court while I went off to make one last visit.


	13. A Gentlemen's Game Part 2

There's a seasonal Halloween store that managed to pop up every single year in Gotham, strangely enough for no longer then two months at a time, yet rarely ever were they strapped for cash when the time came. From my own experiences they were worth the brevity of their appearance, and despite the steep price point there were few times I wouldn't manage to leave the store with a stack of costumes or accessories in hand. If you've ever had the feeling of being a child and waltzing through a toy store and just gushing at the sight of such a cornucopia of every single physical symbol of pure joy, then you know the idea behind my feelings here. The only difference being is my own strange and almost obsessive admiration for the holiday, which might also have something to do with my love of dressing up an playing the part of a person besides myself. Faces upon faces of stock imagery plastered within glorified zip-lock baggies with mostly cheap, yet still undeniably colorful designs as far as the eye could stretch, walls adorning on either side with a plethora of masks from "Phantom of the Opera" to "Scream."

Without thinking, my mind had begun to wonder as my body did much of the same throughout the store, passing by the same racks over and over again as reminiscence overtook me. Dates and times were never much an issue for me, mostly unaffected or non-caring as to such, and things such as anniversaries and quote en quote "special occasions" being little beyond their true net worth of another day in the year. But today...this day...somehow was circling around in my brain desperately calling for me to have some sort of recollection as to why it was so meaningful. Michael had mentioned it was nearing the end of the month and the eve of the hallows, but the more I tried to rack my brain around the significance I found clarity in a very simple question: where was I last Halloween? Simple answer? Here. A year ago I spent most of my days at this mall, hanging out with my friends and just savoring the moments as I bathed in the sun of my ever fading youth. But her...she was here along with them.

_Why on earth would you dress like a taco..._

_...you should be more supportive, i'm showing appreciation for your people. There's just no love anymore_

_hey...listen, I need to talk to you once we get back, okay?_

_Well, you're already gracing me with your presence...plus a fabulous opportunity to buy meaningless bullshit. So I guess I owe you one._

_Brian, you're one of the most amazing people I've ever come to know. Just...promise me something. Promise me that things wont change between us. _

_Does this elephant mask make my fake ass look big? I heard you by the way...you're just far too serious at times, Carmen. _

Before I could romanticize any further, a loud bang sounded from on high, best guesses leading towards it coming from the front entrance of the mall. Everyone was frightened but for the most part tried to shrug it off, but there was little hope of that after a second and third bang struck the airwaves, each one seeming to be originating from each entrance to the mall. Shoppers became frantic, moving about in a spurt of mass chaos and error, and thanks to one far less considerate customer I found myself not only alone in the store but knocked to the ground. There was little questioning to be done at this point, the vicious assault on my senses came from gunmen who seemed to be trying their damnedest to cut off all points of entry and make navigation impossible. To put my sense of panic and making the worst of possibilities come to reality...I'll use a more common expression: we were sheep being herded into our own doom, and with the next round of shots I could faintly hear screams from all sides muffled by the distance. If anything was going to be done, whether it be salvation or escape it was going to have to happen quickly, as I rose to my feet and saw the world sloppily regain it's focus once more.

I was expected back minutes ago, and now with the current climate there seemed nothing more pressing then getting my fellow out of this fray, he might have been able to get himself out of a bar fight but armed combat was beyond him. My head was spinning and the distortion was fading in and out as a searing pain made its way through my skull, my eyes burning from the light and it was taking all of my might not to become lost in a tornado of disembodied sound. Shut as tightly as I could muster, mentally I swore off the sensation and cursed its existence, and in a matter of seconds it dissipated into nothingness. There was no more time to be focusing on the details of my person, and something had to be done here and now, but in my current state I could not allow myself to be noticed making my way out into the caucus of carnage. Heroism was never my game.

Something caught my eye though, amongst the clutter left by the situation there was one costume which had made my vision trained to detect it's presence: it was red and black, a small image on the front informed me that it was cloak accompanied by a pair of black and white gloves and a simplistic masquerade mask. Ghoulish font further instructed me that it was known as the "gentlemen of the night" costume, but that wasn't what had sucked me in, for I had seen knock-offs before but this had been almost tailor made to feed off of my preferences. For whatever reason a deviously wicked thought came to my mind, as if being created by a third party, and I opened the packet with all good intentions in mind that I would pay for it later. And besides, in the wake of all of this, would my temporary theft be really what they had to worry about? It took no more than a minute, and I quickly looked at myself in the mirror (ridiculous as all hell but still with no time for deep reflection) before I darted out of the store and rushed towards a small, unmarked door not far from it. Whoever these people are, they might have weaponry which may give them the upper hand, but my best hope might be in my knowing the layout of this mall like the back of my hand. Small hallways and staircases connected the entire mall, secretive passageways that any consumer might not understand unless they knew somewhere who worked there and understood the mall's intimate innards.

If every access point was cut off, then they were already covering most of the mall by default, and the entire first floor was in their line of sights. But the crux of their entire angle came once again in my dark hallways, which included stairwells which ran the length of the mall and upwards towards the food court, where my thinking was that I would have the higher ground. A creaking door and the absolute desertion was all that greeted me at the top, with chairs overturned much in the same way that I had seen in much of the rest of the mall for the simple reason that no one would be dumb enough to find themselves cornered at the top. That is...unless they had no intention of leaving...but rather observing the prey. It was just as I had feared: three men, dark complexion, long black hair, and automatic weapons strapped to their waists and at the ready. No worry was in their minds as their faces were being shown as clear as day, and in their frame of mind I wouldn't feel any differently as they held all of the weight to carry this situation into a point of escalation that could change life as we all knew it. There was this sudden rush of adrenaline as I slid behind a railing and peered downward at them, gunshots blaring as another two or three people fell dead to the floor, my heart sinking as I saw it all happen in real time and my soul was too crushed to look any further. A shriek fell from my mouth...a shriek that the assailants had unfortunately heard, and the trio stopped their attack and the one to the far right motioned for one of them to investigate the sound further.

He was portly, but still had more spring in his step then I did. Shoes that had noticeable wear and tear, indicating that he had been through a great deal with them, but that wouldn't help me. _Come on, come on, he's coming, I need to think and think fast! _The railing was far too close to the origin of the sound, so if I hadn't changed course I would have made it far too easy for him to sniff out my position. I found a directory display that would work quite nicely, and slunk behind it, my vision now limited to from the ground up a few feet. _There has to be something...I cant die here! _Bingo. There was one small tell that gave away the only thing I had going for me now, my pursuer was favoring his right foot, and when there is a match there's fire. All I had to do was wait for him to come into range and make my move, and within a few moments I got my wish, my heart racing as my life itself now hung in the balance and it all came rushing back to me. My hands couldn't stop shaking as a passionate rage embedded within me came loose and all I could think of was taking him down. One. Two. Three. _There's those tattered Nikes..._and with a swift punch to the knee he went spiraling to the floor in a fit of pain, and my hand went to cover his mouth and muffle the screams...but he had an answer for me as his hands flailed about and reach into his pocket and dug a dingy switchblade into my thigh. A stray bit of blood came from my mouth as I attempted as best I could to mask the pain, however realistically I knew there was no time and I propped him back up against a railing overlooking the lower level, and landing a sucker punch to his Adams apple before he could signal his cohorts. My mind raced, and I had to finish this, all of my strength causing me to inhumanly make a run at him and flip him over the railing and send him plummeting nearly a hundred feet in the air.

A gasp of surprise came from below as the two remaining tried their best to awaken their fallen and see if he was alright, very foolish to do so considering his fall, but I suppose even the worst of people have some sense of camaraderie. I knelt upon the same exact railing he had just fell from in such an untimely manner, and with one quivering leg I leapt downward and with all of my weight smashed my knuckles deeply into the forehead of the two of them, my ears ringing once again but this was no time to rest. Not yet. One of them had a handgun equipped to their side, of which I gladly commandeered and struck him across the face with so hard that he lost consciousness, leaving only one remaining to defuse the situation. Grapping his collar in a balled up fist spun from a hatred the likes of which I had not felt in ages, an elbow to the chin and a firmly planted head-butt were the closest things he would get to a greeting...and as he groaned in what would probably be a concussion in little time at all I took the gun one last time and shot him twice. One for each kneecap.

"I'm only going to ask you this once...get the fuck out of my city!" I growled, not so much in a guttural manner but in a way that sounded rivaled with a mix of intimidation and regality and class, some who had been too shattered by the experience to even move a muscle in a fear induced state of paralysis now looked onward at me in shock. I felt their eyes peering into my soul...but I wouldn't let them, and I made a run for a nearby window as I burst through it...albeit not done in much sound reasoning as I found myself falling a good twenty feet. My back would not appreciate it in the morning.

_(End of Act I...)_


	14. Occupational Therapy

There are very few times where a man finds himself admitting defeat in the face of adversity, some are more strenuous then others, but more often then not the true nature of humanity and the full worth of a man is demonstrated by such trials and tribulations. Say for instance, that a poor child finds himself at the bottom of a steep hill and no surefire way of knowing where and when he shall arrive at the top of the monstrous summit. A few steps inland, and he faces a pebble lodged in this shoe that wont come free, regardless of how hard he tries. But given an hour or two, he reaches the top and feels a sense of accomplishment of which cannot be rivaled by any notion of comfort or circumstance. He reaches his goal, because he must. He cannot allow the thought of failure to even become a thought on his mind, for the price of failure is far too great. Every man is his own creation, guided by his own will and needing nothing more then a sense of purpose in this life or the next. He reached the top...because he found his.

The commisioner could learn a thing or two from this boy. You see, James Gordon rose up the ladder of command faster then any other member of the force since the very beginning of it's conception, and as a result a certain point of respect had been assigned to him, with criminals running scared at the mention that he was on the case. But as of late, he found that even the brightest could feel the warm sting of apathy when we are given the choices we feel are only natural to make, and we find ourselves spending many a sleepless night on the days past. When some misbehave and fail to act upon their best intentions, and even when we do just the opposite, there are consequences for the that which we cannot unsee or undo. Sometimes you love something that isnt yours to love, sometimes you gain a fortune that was well deserved, but other instances you merely feel that your choices were an insignificant ripple in the fabric of time and causality. For James, what he did, what he felt he was required to do to safegaurd the future of all...cost Gotham a life.

Each and every single night at about nine o'clock roughly, sometimes later depending on the amount of backlogged work he had to offset before heading out of the office, he found himself slouched over the counter of O'Malley's Bar and Grille on the upper east side. Over the last six months he had turned the tables of his recognition from a distant visitor often more concerned about his duties then enjoying the scenery, to a regular patron who sat down and finished a bottle and then sloppily staggered out into the harshness of nightfall and towards home. No one cared to give much thought as to ask why he found himself staking a claim to the small distillery, he was a war hero in a time of furthered peace who was enjoying a small comfort of victory. But now the status quo was changing before his vary eyes, as the reports from the rookies on the streets were in and they were beyond unsettling: crime was up, whether it be simple offenses like petty robbery or something more severe like talk of drug rings being reestablished. Gangs were cropping up all over the place, whether it be the last remnants of the Falconie family hanging on for dear life and relevancy, or the small bands of small-timers only known as the "Brothers in Arms" and the "Sons of Selassie." There was a war brewing, and anyone who had any desire to play a part in the skirmish was preparing themselves for a true to life version of risk, and the city streets were the districts waiting to be claimed.

Not only that, but there was a deeply seeded guilt embedding itself in the spine of this legal legend. You see, that whole decision he was forced to make because of his position, also ended up garnering him with an empty bed to sleep in at the end of the night. His wife, Barbara, knew full well of his choice and just couldn't live with the repercussions of the life that he was prepared to lead because of it. She married him as a woman taken aback by the pure scope of his ambition to clean up a city that so many had long since claimed to be beyond repair, but with this development she now saw him as a coward and left, taking his son with her. It was nearly midnight when he made his way out the door, much the same way as he always had, and was alarmed by the increased presence of police in the area. Not just that, it appeared that they were mobilizing towards one central area, and he felt compelled to follow in his own pursuit, despite his weary legs not being an adequate match for an automobile. One was about to pass him again, and he got the idea stuck in his head that he could just flag it down to signal that he needed a ride, not the best idea but then again when the Jack Daniels talking you cant expect Shakespeare. The vehicle honked once or twice, but then yielded angrily as the door flung open wildly.

"What in the name of all that is holy...is your problem!" The officer barked.

"Now, son, I've been practicing my intimidation speeches since before you were even conceived. I just wanted a ride." He reasoned as he showed his badge, although the words weren't coming as naturally as he had wanted.

"Oh, shit, i mean...sorry commissioner. Sir, i was just going to head over the mall, sir. There's been reports of multiple shots fired." He recoiled, as Gordon walked over to the car and entered the passenger seat, the officer following suit. "Are you alright, sir?"

"Just worry about driving the damn car! Get us there with a bit of urgency and maybe i wont mention the fact you almost ran over the Commissioner of the department!" Hardly discernable through the alcohol, but he was mainly fuming for the sake of humility.

Of all of the things that being a man teaches you about life, whether its how to pick a woman or just simply how to keep your neck out of a place you have no place being, there's almost always a catch. A newfound piece of information that comes to light in the morning of ones own hindsight and they realize a better, and truer understand of what happened way back then. Eyeing the lower ranking officer curiously, there was a certain air about him that had made him seem so extremely familiar to him, but at the time he really didn't find the words or strength to place it. Both hands fixed tightly on his temples which now had begun to sweat in anticipation of reaching the scene of the action, he had wished to try and release the tension on his temple as a throbbing headache now was setting in at full throttle. A small water bottle tucked into the coat of the officer driving came into view, and he silently offered it to him without question, drinking it in almost record time and placing the now empty bottle on the dashboard to sit idly by. The officer was the first one to speak up minutes later, clearing his throat before addressing his superior in a more neutral manner then last time.

"You...don't remember me, do you?" He posed the question.

"I'm sorry to say I don't, there's so many cops in this town, its hard even for me to remember each of their faces...let alone their names. I'm sorry, son."


	15. Harlequinn

Harley Quinn had spent most of her life living in comparison to the likes of her mother, and finding herself living in a sort of prevenitive bubble of social distortion and naivity. Before meeting her good friend Pamela, she had become reserved and unbeknownst to the more exhillerating aspects to her life of which she had not given much thought to acting upon. There was this certain element to the world around her where she felt almost clueless to what was really appropriate, but with her help, the young Isley had taught her that there really wasn't a proper way to act upon ones own emotions or feelings. For most of the world there might be a slightly differentiated status of being, but in Gotham, if you werent willing to stretch the envelope a bit in order to achieve your aspirations then you were going to become a pawn in someone elses game. Sure, it wasnt a concept that she was the least bit a master of, but she had a firm sense of trust that her friend wouldnt lead her astray and would known what is best. She saw how were mother slaved away and had lost sight of what truly mattered, what she had planned for herself, the way she felt bitterness flood her epicenter and take it out on her that she had to do so much. She couldn't do it.

It was pitch black outside, or at least it would be if it weren't for the faint illumination of the numerous streetlights in sight, and all day Harley had been blindly following the leader as she skirted across most of Gotham on foot save for the occasional resting stop. Cops were out in hot pursuit, but in the grandiose fashion associated with this dark and dingy metropolis they paid little mind to the two teens hitching their way to and from. It wasn't until well after midnight when the pair had reached an even more eerily silent part of the cities outskirts where they found themselves seaside, firmly planted docks greeting them as the moaning of oncoming boats and shifting of the water set the ambiance. Ducking behind a mound of equipment which they had assumed was for transport, they calmed their bodies and rested their legs for the first time in what had felt like eons, a soft groan coming from Quinn as she bickered about her friends choice of location in such a way that only speaks to the validity of her friendship. A small pouch exited Pamela's pocket and now sat on the ground in-between the two; it wasn't very attractive, a deep burlap color that almost ceased to leave any impression against the blackness of night, a single strand of yarn tied with ungodly precision that prevented it from being open prematurely.

"What's that red? I know you didn't have us walk all the way out here just for'a bag of dirt." She posed conscientiously, although little reaction could be seen as she just continued to pitter patter the baggie like a child playing with its food.

"Harl's...did I ever tell you about my mom?" She implored, still lingering over her raggedy totem.

"I...don't think so." There now was a nervousness present in her approach, and a longer period of silence broke through as her attempts at finding the right words proved stillborn. "I never really asked about it, ya know? After what I've had to deal with living with my mother, I neva really asked to push an shove my way into your life, Pam."

It was successful, and her look of apprehension dissipated at the sight of a smile, although part of her felt there was more to the story then she had lead on. Most of the time that's just a matter of reality, some people get front row seats to see hell up close and personal, and for others they only manage to see the faint images illuminate by their own overactive imagination and the murmuring of others. True companionship is to have a single person who can see that you are still witnessing it all, as if for the first time, maybe even each and every day but yet still can brush it off and show support when things rear their ugly head. Often times they would romanticize about running away from the world and just finding their own way, away from housing squabbles, worries of squandering a quote en quote "future," and the death of the dreams that made it all worthwhile. The sack opened and a pile of a charcoal black and grainy substance poured out onto the docks, lowering her face closer to the contents, she then scooped the lot into her hands and let a gust of oncoming wind carry it off to the harbor. The joy was still there, eyes shut as if to avoid the entirety of what was awaiting in the world around her, a soft chuckle overtook her and lead as a prelude to a sea of tears to follow...although never once did she break the smile. Closing in to comfort her friend, Harley met her in a warm and affectionate embrace, hands resting on her spine running up and down the length of her back as she could feel the rhythm of her heartbeat slowly return to normal and with it her composure.

"My mother loved all things in nature...even man. She said to me...she said that when she was going to leave this world, she wanted to go back to the places she cherished the most. She...loved this place...this city. This used to be a small piece of woodlands when she was a kid...or at least that's what she told me. Every morning, she would come here and watch the birds, hear the sounds of the ocean...it was beautiful." Soothingly Harley continued to pat her back to avoid a repeat performance, not that is wasn't appropriate, but sometimes one doesn't always need to break down more then once in one sitting.

"It still is, Pam." Harley spat kindly, as her friend put one arm around her waist as the other hung freely, gazing out into the expanse of majestic blue.

"Let's go home, Harley."

"You know something, Red? You're really weird sometimes. It's a complement." Her tongue extended in a mocking fashion, of which Isley quickly copied for the sake of posterity and such, and the two ventured onward back towards where they had came...home...wherever that was.

"I wouldn't expect anything less, you crazy bitch. It's a compliment."


	16. Cerebrum

_Why does she always catch my eye like this..._

_our faces never seemed much closer..._

_stop looking at me with those eyes..._

_...Brian, it's getting late..._

_can you help me with something..._

_im sorry im so late..._

_its fine, I've just been collecting social security..._

_you have to understand..._

_it's not the way it looks..._

_I just...wanted you to know the truth..._

_hey, what movie are we going to see..._

_...no, I wanted to save that movie for my dad and I..._

_I promise you,_

_I can do better._

_I promise you,_

_I will do better._

_I promise you,_

_I've done worse._

_...I'm so sorry Brian..._

_...son? Is...we can call to...help?_

When I was a kid I used to be so over encumbered with the thoughts and feelings swirling around in my head that I sought out a way to end the commotion and feel a sense of ease at last. Some of my friends suggested alcohol once I had gotten to my teenage years, I myself gave a lot of thought and effort to music being the coping technique to slay the monster of maddening ambient noise and static, but nothing would give way to even come close to outranking the subtle joys of laying at the bottom of my swimming pool. Why exactly? Honestly, because there was a synthesis between myself and the water, and in some vague manner of speaking I felt I had finally cancelled out the world itself. There were certain sounds, muffled and nearly muted which I hadn't minded much, but even then they were just wisps of another life that I easily pushed out of my train of thought until I was ready to return to the land of the living. Every bubble that rises to the surface as you breathe the last of what is still held deep within your diaphragm can be heard and seen, and the sun welcomes you as you bask in its own glory, no worries to be seen. A pressure goes to the forehead, and a heavy weight falls upon your chest as you realize that you are all but bereft of air, the price of the solitude which very few can pay for any length of time.

There was something coming to focus now, my eyelids were struggling to stay open and my ears were ringing straight through to my brainstem, that same stimulating state of euphoria and alarm as my airflow becomes labored. It's quite dark, a single flickering light gives enough headway for me to tell that i'm only a few feet away from a paved roof. Wait...a paved roof? No, that wouldn't make any sense, and furthermore as i continue to gain consciousness i realize that the world around me was swaying back and forth. It wasn't a roof...it was the floor...but, that meant that i was levitating? No. As i used as much of my upper body strength as i could to see above me i saw that i was being dangled off of a lamppost of some sort, done up much in the same way a lamb is just before the slaughter. I could hear something moving around me on all sides, but between the soreness in my back from my last brilliant idea, and the searing pain in my leg from the magnificent idea prior i counted my blessings and considered my position one of safety.

It was no more or less a shadow bending to the will of the darkness, a soft smell of strawberries hit the air that was practically intoxicating as soon as it made contact with the cilia in my lungs. Undeniably female, or at least it was what I hoped based on the limited scope of things I had seen, but nothing was more pressing at the moment then trying to find a means to set myself loose and find my way back home. Creepily enough, a subtle soundtrack hit the backdrop to my pondering, an angelic humming that would make even the hardest of men melt into putty if we were merely requested to do so. It was everywhere: behind, then to the right and in no time at all managed to reach my left side, followed by a clacking against the gravel surface. A pair of tall, black heels meet my gaze first and foremost, as backwards as it was I craned my head upward as best I could to see the person who the ostentatious footwork belonged to...and by all means, I was speechless.

Legs as spacious and slender coupling marvelously with an hourglass figure, a offset hop was present in her step as if she knew she was intending to leave a long lasting impression, although to me it seemed to cause her thighs to sway to and from much like a pendulum. Covering the set were a pair of tights covered in black and white stripes that ran the length of her legs, and I must admit for an instant I found myself loosing focus in her eyes as I reached her waist, the endgame of the garment forever lost in a frilly jet black skirt. She was no more then late twenties by the look of her, face and eyes being as vibrant as I have ever seen, and her face looking fairer then I could bring to such simple terms and points of comparison. But while I could discern that she held an attractive face, her entire face was covered in some sort of makeup, a ghostly white background putting contrast to a floral design in the foreground that was spiraling out and around her eyes. Also waist length hair in the deepest and darkest form of brown that could have any business not being black, that it almost seemed to shine from the trace amount of moonlight creeping through the night sky.

"Believe me or not...this isn't the strangest way I've woken up next to a woman." I mused as I let out a hearty groan from my person, my costume had still been on so I assumed it safe to say that she had not taken the time to see my face, and so my voice returned to its harsh anonymity.

"...oh look...he's awake. You took a nasty...fall...you know." She licked her lips, a thick layer of black lipstick revealing little of her own natural flesh, and in various ways her overall appearance gave a visage that she had no place in the rest of the world. Her eyes remained trained on my position, and my body, a constant devilish grin showing a flawless set of pearly whites from cheek to cheek. Whoever this woman was, it was obvious from the eye contact that her gaze was seeing me as less of a person of more of prey in her eyes. "I managed to take care of that nasty little cut you had...you should really learn to play well with others on the playground...of course I could show you a thing or two about that..."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind, wait...you took off my pants?" False voice or not, I was laughing uncontrollably from the pure unadulterated absurdity of the situation, one last lift of my torso revealed that my pair of dungarees had been swapped out with a pair of jet black sweatpants. Bizarre as hell, albeit comfy in their own way, but still an appreciated gesture.

"Oh...don't worry, I've learned I can be very...patient about the things I want most. Never wanted to spoil the surprise before the moment is right...I just wanted to talk, silly." She approached me with paces that would put a gazelle or cheetah to shame, her well pasteled face now mere inches from my own she took it upon herself to lean in close to me ear and begin in a sultry whisper that I had to summon all of the strength within in not to shudder. "I saw what you did in there...and you see, this city...it changes people. For better, or for worse. If you want to be a boy scout and help people, you wont get anything in return. Now...myself...I've found it very enjoyable to do things with a bit of a gray streak. And something tells me...that you aren't so predictable as the rest." In that moment I felt a cold splotch hit my neck as her tongue traced a small piece of skin which by my best measure felt like a heart, I let out a gasp of pleasure and well before I could even think to recuperate from that bit of oddity I felt a pair of teeth sink into my neck. While not excruciatingly painful, it still startled me enough so that I swatted her away and I found myself falling from my hanging space and landing smack dab onto the hard gravel I had been facing all that time. My socially inept seductress nowhere to be seen.

"Don't date women online, Brian. That's where all the crazy women are, the hell they are." I grumbled as I cautiously inspected my leg and came to find that it had been cleanly and efficiently and symmetrically stitched and patched with a great deal of care, and I limped onward in the way of the fire escape and slowly made my way back to ground level. "Fuck, that was hot."


	17. If Only Walls Could Speak

The night bled the last of its livelihood, and with it the warm orange glow of sunrise took hold over Gotham, my aim to just get back to Michael's apartment before he assumed the worst of me following yesterdays fracas. My thoroughly dilapidated costume was tucked into a stray grocery bag to avoid further exposure to the world and giving them less reason to make the police departments job any easier, for even if what I did saved peoples lives I executed it in a way that might warrant far too many questions. This city had seen its share of people trying to stand up to hypocrisy and depravity, but they always sided with the person who was willing to do them the most favors or had the most cash, in the very least it was somewhat adorable the way they upheld such a manner of despicable predictability. Here people gave in and just sold out their decency to the highest bidder, but what I can say for my birthplace is that they were very rarely as deceptive as some might have you think, as the dangers that did continue to be were fairly easy to avoid with a dash of common sense. They were disgraceful, but they were shallowly honest.

Don't be so forthright to pass judgments on those who seem more simplistic in their assertions or feelings, or in other words, it's not the best course of action to condemn others who appear to be shallow in their acts or in their intentions. In truth, I owe a great deal to some of the most short-sighted and trivial minded people, whether it be some of my schoolyard friendships that kept my sanity or even more invaluable work experience. My first job came at age seventeen working for a sort of flea market and farmers market combination towards the outskirts of the city, mostly attended and run by small timers and immigrants who were looking to make an honest living selling like Arab traders, although not nearly as shrewd. They were, at least for the most part, a reserved and well founded bunch who were more traditional in the way they treated labor and life or even just the ways they would see the world: everyone worked and didn't get breaks, but then again they never worked us harder then they needed to. It was there and then that I realized one of my most useful talents, which was that I could manipulate my conversational skills to basically hold a semi-functional discussion with anyone I came across, and as you might infer in sales that meant I could suavely woo a potential buyer.

Dawn had set in full swing by the time I reached the flat, a few people in the complex were up and about from the sound of things, and I slunk in the door and made my way up the staircase landing as swiftly as I could. One of the people I crossed on the way up had been the landlady, of whom simply nodded in my direction and politely wished me well, mismanaging my footing but doing far better then expected given the nature of my injury. Saying that it still hurt would be a gross understatement, more akin to the feeling of having someone drop a bowling ball on your leg from a hundred feet up, and then having that feeling repeat each time I took a step and placed another two hundred plus pounds of force on the area. Taking a deep breathe I reached the door and raised my hand in a fist, knocking three times but trying to maintain my inconspicuous presence by keeping the noise to a minimum. A few moments later Michael answered the door, looking worse for ware and as if he had only gotten to sleep a few minutes before my arrival, hugging me in a fit of excitement and surprise. He looked at me as if he was seeing a ghost, and for a second he stood there silently looking at me as he shook his head.

"You son of a bitch! You must have a horseshoe shoved so far up your ass...its not...its not even...lets just forget it. You're safe and that's all that matters, i'll just remember to keep you around in case I ever find myself in another life scarring event." His voice was horse, and he was barely able to form a coherent thought, but part of me thanked him for not asking about the specifics.

"Thanks, Mike. It's good to be back here finally." I let out a sigh of relief that had been kept within for the last twelve hours, with everything that had been jam packed into the night before, I felt it best to be restless as the fight or flight response nature had imbued me with refused to die down. I hadn't expected him to let me in without some semblance of questioning, in fact the opposite may have been enough to raise a fair amount of concern, so when I saw his eyes treading heavily over my wounded leg I knew that the silence was bound to be broken.

"You're favoring your right leg...and not to mention it looks like the right side of your shoulder was mauled by a tiger. Where the hell were you?" Simple question, but with an answer that was by no means cleared for verbal takeoff. I had to have a clearly stated answer that he would accept, and with my own chameleonic nature in the way of speech, I felt imbedding the truth within a lie would suffice.

"I...kind of...ran into a girl." Curiosity was fuming from his core, but also an equal amount of confusion, but at the same time he was a master at reading faces. See, that's the reason why I couldn't completely lie without some barring on reality, he can find lies faster then you could find a politician in a brothel.

"And...that's from trying to ask her out?" He asked with a slightly less inquisitive and more humorous tone in his voice.

"You should've seen what happened when I asked for her number..." I replied in a manner of jesting that was matched with a solid laugh from Michael, and then a brief period of silence as he motioned me towards the couch to lie down, presumably satisfied with the topic.

"Well, like I said, i'm just glad that you're back, man. There's a lawyer coming over in a little bit, there are some things I need to tell you about the last year while you were away. Otherwise, i'd be in my room sleeping like a fucking rock. You might need to sign a few papers, nothing too mind numbing."

For as long as I had known him, Michael despised lawyers and saw them as the scum of the earth, devoid of any humanity and only doing whatever they need to do to cash their next paycheck. To him, it never mattered much whether they were ambulance chasers or the devilishly well dressed who defended clients who were more guilty then they were of lying and cheating their way as far as they had gotten in life. But then again, and i'm getting tired of saying it myself by now, but times have changed in my absence. There isn't much else of a way for me to respond, but to scatter about the past trying to see where I have the footing enough to make a leap into the present, preciously vying for things to be far more familiar so that I wouldn't regret where I had been. Something was off, in for no other reason then the fact that Michael had actually felt compelled to hire a public defender, and in Gotham of all places...not quite far off of just selling ones soul outright. A chime sounded and dashed my somewhat cohesive flow of thought from continuing, he rushed to the door seconds after and opened the door for a shoddy looking gentleman with a mane of slicked back hair and a pinstripe suit.

There was a stillness in the mans eyes, think of it like a lack of depth that would usually be the tell for what kind of man he was, but instead he stood upright with a straight back and his feet together as he clutched his briefcase in both hands. Letting go with the one hand he reached forward to offer to shake my hand, regardless of my own preconceptions I accepted for the sake of civility and making a good first impression, his grip was firm and made me question whether or not defending civil liberties was his only profession. His teeth shined as if he gargled in bleach, and by contrast his breath hit me like a ton of bricks with a potent scent of fish and margaritas as he spoke to me.

"It's nice to meet ya, kid. My names Alonso, Alonso Contonsci. He has told me a lot about you, I have some papers I brought with considering the worst case scenario but...I don't think that's needed anymore. Clearly." Socially awkward was a benchmark that leveled off at the sight of a man like him, from the way he clumsily walked or fidgeted his hands as he addressed others while rarely having prolonged periods of direct eye contact. And as much as I wanted to question whether or not he was trying for the "Jersey Shore" look to his fashion sense, what with his hair and outfit, part of me could infer from his last name that chances were his pockets were as loose as his morals.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting, you said there were papers that need my signature? I...don't understand." Short and sweet, defensive but understandable.

"While you were away for the last...eleven months or so? Some things happened, some things which resulted in a civil court case in which the good doctor and I fought against the likes of Lagassi Entertainment incorporated, which we won. The major factor that is important and has to deal with you, is that when we won the judge ruled in our favor for a grand some of 23.4 million dollars. Well...of course the total is just an estimate, since then its been sitting in a slew of interest accounts at GPB accumulating interest, which now is holding a total worth of about twenty...seven million or so? Of course...seeing as you are the rightful owner of the money...certain paperwork is required to allocate the funds to you. But...that's just legal shit-talk. The skinny version? You sign these two papers with your John Hancock front and back, top and bottom, and you become a very rich man."

In grade school I remember being one of the few people of which had actually used any sort of calligraphy or extra penmanship when I wrote anything, not because I felt like showing off but just for the fact that I had been hardwired to feel that if I hadn't written in cursive that I wouldn't be taken seriously. Print was considered to be this taboo subject that some had given in to but I was told that I was better then that, that I was skilled in it and that a fair amount of class and grace would take me a long way. In some circumstances, the same can be said for any person who establishes a fair amount of accumulated income, whether it be by slaving away for years on end...or simple dumb luck and a pen being tossed at you with unbridled averous. My school district had often posed the question of what we would be or accomplish if money had become a meaningless construct, or that we just found a loophole to make so much of it that you never had to worry ever again, and when the torch was passed to me I always gave an uninspired answer. Help the poor, eat tacos until I was morbidly obese, see the world. How much do your dreams differ when you inject a splash of maturity and a writing instrument in your grasp that is promised to deliver it. Did I sign it? Don't fucking joke, I signed it faster then I took my clothes off when I finally knew I was going to lose my virginity. And that girl was a solid ten, life's just dizzying that way.


	18. Delinquency

Our newly discovered Mafioso friend having left minutes after his business had concluded, Michael soon followed as he told me that he was exhausted and knew the day would be long, but he still had patients to tend to and lives to save. No time could be spared on such frivolous details as why exactly it seemed that unscrupulous persons were involved with my newfound retirement fund, but as he left he promised me that tonight he would give me as many answers as i wanted, leaving me by my lonesome until six at earliest. The day was mine, but in all fairness, I wished it was a present i could so easily dismiss and return to sender, my back and legs disagreeing with my every move and my eyelids were closing in protest. As if in a daze or a drug induced stupor, i fell backwards onto the couch, although overshooting it a tad and finding myself rolling over onto to the floor and discovering just why its referred to as a "hard wood" floor. A burning sensation flowed through to my eyelids and they closed shut just to keep from feeling the pain and discomfort any longer, my body adjusting and repositioning itself causing my leg to bang against a nearby coffee table, my mind having difficulty dealing with the two i blacked out with seconds.

When i finally found myself awake again, craning my head to side I could see by way of an obnoxious Mustang GT themed clock that it was already noon, and i had spent the last five plus hours passed out on a floor covered in the remnants of food from a lovable but overzealous bachelor doctor. The rather laughable irony wasn't lost on me, as in the last twelve hours i had managed to save a number of lives and acquire a fortune of which I couldn't even imagine in my wildest of fantasies, but yet i had celebrated the occasion by being unconscious with a hairy potato chip being my sole company. My mind wandered back and forth between whether or not my bizarre admirer had laced my stitches with something less than reputable, but then again i also kept the more realistic thought in mind that i had been walking on a freshly sewn piece of flesh for a longer distance then most would while healthy. Blood loss would account for a larger portion of how i had felt, and regardless of the final verdict i didn't have a valid way of determining it without it raising questions, especially now with recent information presented to me. Out of the corner of my eye i saw the small grocery bag which i had contained my recent tempestuous secret. I felt that it was only fair of me to try and eliminate the amount of ties that i had to the events of yesterday as i could while i was on my own.

The only issue? Short sightedness coming in once more, I rose to my feet in a feet of efficiency and speed without considering whether or not I could support my weight, and soon found myself balancing on the sparse amounts of furniture like it was a live action game of hot potato. I knew I wasn't going to be getting very far at all in my current condition, so I decided to peruse my old friends pantries for a few previsions to help me out, fully intending to explain why I needed any of it in due time. In his humble offering of a kitchen, he had a series of cabinets on either side, if memory had served me any importance at all I believe one of them on the far left held some intermediate level pharmaceuticals. It's a grade school level concept, but those who share have more favor with people, and those who hold the drugs have more friends then any oversexed coed or narcissistic socialite ever could. Don't worry, he wouldn't have anything hardcore like oxycodone or ketamine, but something a bit lighter such as Vicodin would do just fine...the glorious row of bottles all marked with the standard "rx" making the reality of finding the roots of substance abuse feel like Christmas morning. Taking two into my mouth greedily I had little patience for a drink to help wash them down, which I soon regretted as I tasted the bitter powder within coating the inside of my mouth, I frantically raided the other cabinets as I madly filled it with tap water and chugged it to my hearts delight.

Now that my concerns over my leg were partially sated, all I needed to do was double check the penmanship of my femme fatale, placing my weight on the kitchen counter as I curled my pant leg up to my waist and balanced on one leg as the other rested against the sink. It was a mixed effort, to say the least, in the light of day I could tell that the stitches themselves were holding up spectacularly but there was about an inch or two of flesh on either side which was discolored and made me worry whether or not it was infected. A half drank bottle of vodka was in reach and within seconds I put my mostly reasonable cleverness to use, silently thanking the fact that things like this were found so easily in the home of a practicing and licensed physician more easily then gauze, but then again I wasn't about to start taking my good fortune for granted. Twisting off the cap, a few shots worth or so clashed against my frazzled flesh and with it, the same amount of burn that would come from chugging tequila, wincing so intensely that I managed to draw blood on my lip to add to my problems. I dried the area with a few paper towels, and then removed my leg from the counter and started to limp forward into the living room again, having noticed earlier (although I hadn't made an actual mental note of it) that there was a cane against the far wall.

"Well...I might be the first geriatric teenager millionaire, but it's going to have to do." It was fairly simple in design, the shaft a piano black but without so much of the glass finish, and the handle curvature in the shape of a c in a deep mahogany brown that matched with a level of sheen all its own. Moving towards the door with a spring in my step, I soon found myself back on the streets and making headway towards my first destination, a little upscale place of commerce known as GNPB which had been infamously home to most of the life savings of the cities most ruthless criminals. Most people become so fixated on the idea that crime comes from a poor level, but in truth there is a root to the evil which stems from a seed of greed and corporate corruption, the desperate and depraved are only given so much time because they don't have the assets in place to clean up the messes made by such illegal actions. A few blocks south and there it was, in a overindulgent array of stained glass and pointless architecture, stepping through the door I must of been eyed up by half a dozen security guards who had been making me feel as if I had never really left the hospital. Gargantuan bodies seeing me as a man out of place in an area of which I had no business being, and even if I had a reason to be here, my clothing hadn't helped my case much...that is unless I was going to run the gambit of looking like a spoiled brat who was swimming in money by way of some inheritance or allowance by others who actually did work for a living.

After the main entrance and security checkpoint I found myself at a point where the room was cutoff into two separate directions, one being a narrow hallway leading into and endless sequence of doors and elevators on either side, where as the right side just lead to a front desk or maybe it was a teller desk. It was hard to really say one way or another, seeing as most of my banking to this point had been done on a very modest level, where peoples worst fears were over drafting from an account rather than the account holders at places much like this where they sat upon mountains of cash like a dragon atop gold. Seeing it only sensible, I veered right and made my way over to the counter where a rather bubbly blonde was tending to a customer who seemed to be frustrated over something having to do with him losing his "account registry key." Whatever that was, but not having the faintest clue, I chose to silently and diligently wait my turn, and a few minutes later when he left I approached her with a warm and inviting smile on my face, which she returned as a veneer of cherry appeared on her face. My tall stature being of some assistance, I saw a bit more of how she was dressed: conservative blouse, hair tied back behind her head respectively and professionally, heels under six inches...she was someone who in the very least understood the pertinence in advertising yourself well.

"Can I help you sir?" She asked plainly.

"Actually you might, I was given this piece of paper...i'm not exactly sure what to make of it myself." I stated clearly, now leaning against the counter separting the two of us with both forearms.

Before leaving this morning, Michael had given me a small invoice that had been amongst the other stack of papers that had either needed one of our signatures or our attention in the very least, and supposedly I was needing it in order to prove I was who I would say I am. It was yellow and by this time a little crumpled since it made the distance in the safe confines of my jeans pocket, a small amount of text making up the body which was obscured by piss poor organization and a small amount of bleeding ink. The only thing I could make out was at the bottom, where a small piece of text was curiously enough written in print, stating "in the event of any issues or assistance with your account, please contact a representative at a local branch unless otherwise stated." Just beneath that little piece of heaven was a name, a one James Blampkin, referred to as the regional management executive and secretary of majority holdings. Just studied it for a good while, every so often looking up from the parchment to eye me suspiciously to perhaps try and tell one way or another if I was pulling her leg or attempting something nefarious, although she promptly afterwards walked out from behind her post and joined me in the land of the lowly consumer. It had crossed my mind that the guards had seemed to have a similar apprehension in my initial coming, before smiling at me as if there was nothing to fear, and while I am all the more glad for it part of me feels that the sudden change might have been due in part to my cane. I mean, think about it, what exactly would I have in the way of options if I chose to rob a bank in the ritziest part of Gotham and then be incapable of fleeing, like a misogynist trying to outrun the clap.

"Come with me sir, it's just down the hall, last door on the right." She directed me with a well positioned hand and a more weakly constructed and dimly lit smile.

"Thank you." I replied, holding my golden ticket in hand as I set off down the hall.


	19. Indulgence Fee

A lattice finish had been applied to the office window, and I could guess estimate from the spacing of each door that it was a fairly small and conservative office, most likely the people in charge either felt it best to teach in modest or depravity. One, two, three times I knocked with an ample amount of force and with a firmness present in my voice I spoke and asked to see the man to which the station had belonged, further explaining to thin air that I had been motioned to go there for assistance with an account. A hustle and bustle of papers was all I could hear at first, small footsteps then made their way all around the room in circles, a small and indistinct voice was muffled by the pitter patter of movement but I could have sworn it said something to the affect of "i'll be with you in a moment." The door made an ear piercing screech as it stuck against the lavish tile of the hallway floor, making apparent a man of surprisingly small stature who was wearing an excessively boorish outfit of a suit and tie, only given some discrepancy with a pair of thickly rimmed black glasses. He stared at me for a few seconds as if he was consciously adjusting the focus of his eyes like they were a camcorder with a master at the helm, figuring that the awkward silence that I knew was only milliseconds away I held my parchment high and handed it to him an over exaggerated fashion to make sure that he saw it.

Some may have regarded my style a bit insensitive, but as clear as day my shallowly funded notions that his glasses were giving away that he might be next to blind, if not in the very least legally so, they were one hundred percent correct. Holding the paper to the light of a hallway light bulb hanging a foot or two above my head, he read it aloud in a mumbled trance before turning back to me as he crumbled up the piece of paper in front of me with his face scrunching almost to a grimace as he scratched his nose with determinedly. I opened my mouth to say something in protest to his outburst of utter what-the-fuckery, but as I did all I got was a raised hand and a shush mouthed in a near whisper as he took the balled up document in both hands, turned around in one three hundred and sixty degree motion and with a half elevated calf sent it flying into a small trash can at the other end of the office. Jaw agape as I stood there, my mind at a loss for words as this one man who purportedly was in charge of the mafias and politicians millions was as mature as a ten year old after being given a well stocked Easter basket, he was pumping his fists into the air in a well rehearsed sequence as he turned back around and realized that I was still there.

"Oh...right...now who were you?" He asked me quizzically.

"Ummm...Brian...Welman, the front desk sent me your way about setting up my account. You're...really the person in charge of my money?" I inferred with a not so convinced sentimentality in my voice.

"I'm the Head of Investigative finances...officially, the rest of that shit on the cards is just to sound impressive. Works well enough, doesn't it? Welman huh, oh shit, I think I know exactly who you are. Follow me." He directed me away from his office and down the remainder of the hall and we waited for the elevator to arrive back down at our current location on the ground floor, and with the doors opening shortly thereafter we both entered, much to my surprise with a wall of illuminated buttons facing to my right numbered from two to a hundred.

"So...which floor are we heading to?"

"Well...we're going to need to be going to internal integrity, or in other words, the vault room. So...it's either level twenty three or thirty two, so let's go with twenty three." Still Matching my honest questions posed to acquire information about the place with a pound of dismissing the obvious.

"I didn't think this place was big enough for a hundred stories..." I thought to myself, although for whatever reason now he felt it a good time to actually try his hand at being a tour guide.

"It doesn't...the floors represent a measure of roughly eleven feet, from floor to ceiling, the floors themselves go downward." He noted.

A low and melancholy mechanical hum was the only background noise to accompany our descent, which oddly enough I couldn't get use to the sensation of falling into an abyss of all of the things which lie beneath us, either way I just tried my best to push the thought out of my mind. Wasn't ever much of any use in situations like these, where you just found yourself zoning out as you stare forward at a static image and loose yourself in a thought or emotion, some would say it's a saving grace to have such strong recollections of your memories in the first place. My side of the argument on the other hand, there's something to be said for someone who has seen as much as I have, and sometimes a man just wants to be in the room and focused on the day he's currently living as opposed to the way your room looked when you were seven or how your puppy ran away to a farm when you were nine. Yes, yes, both aren't having to do with me but I felt that a nice cliché would bode nicely in this case, my counterpart swaying back and forth as he started humming something which I would wager a guess to say was in the rock category but I'll refrain from calling it until I see him whip out an air guitar and wail away.

"You know...you still didn't answer like any of my questions...that's kind of a talent." My eyes closed as I said such, a pompous smile nonetheless as I did so.

"Well...what would you like to know?"

"Investigative Finances? Considering i'm included in the category...you know, it might be just a tad bit helpful."

"The term is essentially just a better way of saying something that really doesn't mean a damn thing, you know, like a...pseudoscience. I take care of fiscal oddities and certain members or clientele that need a little more tending to then the norm. Madoff? When it happened, I'll have you know they had at least ten guys in cheap suits asking me to tell them if their money was in the right hands or recovering their life savings. After that, I told those fuckers, if you want me to advise you on common practice of common sense, there's a rate of service...the going rate just tripled. Now, you are a little bit different a case, you really think the mafia is just going to let a lump some of almost thirty million go to some teenager and not have some way of making sure the right guy receives it or that it's in safe hands." His words were practically being pummeled at me, and he had such little professionalism but yet at the same time it all felt so genuine that I had decided to take him at his word and not begin to doubt myself or his experience. One final chime from the elevator and the doors slide apart, leaving us on the precipice of a room that was as puzzling and fascinating as I have ever seen a room to be, the room began from the elevator as a small stretch of straightaway which came to an outlet in a circular fashion with the walls going around on all sides decorated by massive steel...and most conceivably bulletproof vault doors. You know what I mean, also a circular shape, no simple doorknob but instead a series of prongs jutting out all around like steering an old pirates vessel, a series of openings which meant business first and foremost and asked for force or intuition to achieve entry.

With an unbalanced step he lead unto a door on the far right of the room, with a series of numbers being the only classification that it had, clearly people weren't for the idea of personalization of ones own vault space. There was also a small console to the right of it that popped down when he traced his finger over a small ridge between a crack on the wall itself, revealing a full standardized keyboard, built in camera for surveillance, and most bizarrely a small scanner like that you'd find in any grocery store that had stepped out from the dark ages...although it was shaped in the form of a hand. Out of a whim I hadn't waited for further instruction and placed my entire palm and fingers into the respective sections of the mold, I could feel a slight tickle at it started scanning my prints like they were checking with a fine-tooth comb and magnifying glass. A bit more intrusive, and in all fairness a little too close for my own tastes, but I remained silent and began to mockingly toddle my head to the beat of a song in my head until a screen a window appeared on screen prompting me to confirm my identity. A monotone and lifeless voice greeted me using my full name, and with a single click I could hear a sequence of tumblers firing off as the seemingly impenetrable door now cracked open a distance of an inch or so with ease. Just as simple was the task of pulling the door open the rest of the way, which to its credit was fairly weight baring, my eyes wanted nothing more then to pop out of their sockets as they cast their gaze upon a stacks upon stacks of hundred dollar bills neatly arranged into a pyramid shape.

"Pretty damn impressive, huh? Now of course this is the part where I actually have to be a working rube." He clarified as he cleared his throat, straightened his ruffled button down and zipped up his fly...which I thoroughly didn't need to have in the midst of my otherwise magnificent day. "Would you like to make a deposit, Mr. Welman? Our current minimum with an account of this size is increments of a thousand." He finished.

"Jesus...well...I guess I need to be careful. How's five thousand sound, don't have a car at the moment anyway." I implied as I jested with little meaningful intent, but as I made mention of a vehicle he raised his hand and started to ruffle through his left pants pocket and fished out a single black key.

"That reminds me actually...this was also left with the account, you know...in the event that you either died or found friends were total jackasses. The guy who dropped it off said it was to your car and that he was keeping some more of your bulkier possessions at a storage yard in the narrows. Now...not really sure if you want to get it if your car is a piece of shit, but hey...what 'do I know...I just fucking count money for a living." Slightly annoyed as he made the remark, but for the most part I think it was the itch he seemed completely incapable of satiating, as he was all the while trying to scratch his back like a dog.

"Yeah...I'll keep that in mind." I whispered almost entirely to myself as I stared at him perplexedly and mouthed "what the fuck" with about as much subtly as I could muster.


	20. Eight Miles

Another ungodly silence passed, an unnerving expectation of something to happen better than the awkward minutia that my guide had already exhibited, but within the next half hour which had become a blurred recollection like Vaseline smeared against a cameras lens I was back to the world of the rest of them. I knew that I had better get my car next, if for no other reason then I could accomplish anything else I needed far faster once I had an automobile at my disposal, so I quickly began signaling cars to try and ask if anyone would be so kind as to give me a lift. It wasn't incredibly far from here, say a good ten miles or so, but given the notoriety of the area I knew that there'd be a good use for my withdrawal trying to grease a few palms into submission. Managing to flag down about a dozen cars over the course of the next half hour, a leery eye given my direction as they rolled down their windows, and not so surprisingly as soon as I mention the narrows they speed off in a fit of noncompliance as my answer. Only one gave me enough time to mention the fact that I was practically willing to make a down payment on their home to secure a safe passage, she was an older, middle-aged woman with long brown hair and a forehead like a drive in movie theater but I didn't put fact above her kind soul. I showed her the money and simply advised that I would give her half now and the rest when we get into the area, explaining that I just needed to get out there to pick up my car at a small automotive repair shop. I'm not always an honest man, but in some instances the best way to be is the exact way that you are, and her eyes seemed sturdy enough that I couldn't sense any malice or discontent.

I got in the car and off we went, not much more for us to say about the situation, and roughly twenty minutes later I arrived where I needed to be and she got a absurdly luxurious tip that i'm sure cabbies only dream of, the darkened skies and heavily littered streets making me want to get my business over and done with as quickly as I could. Not a personal knock against my love of Gotham, but even the locals of a place like know that there are some locales that you aren't meant to linger in for any longer then a few minutes, and becoming a victim is more of an eventuality then a circumstance of misfortune. You see, the key is to not look directly into the eyes of people for any prolonged period of time, you aren't there to find a hook-up and this isn't your moment to find a blind date and live happily ever after. Most often you are going to be jumped or worse for one reason over all else, and that is that you look like an easy target and you are projecting an image of weakness to people are wishing for nothing more then to exploit it. You don't wish to become a victim in a bad part of town and you have little options about getting out unscathed? Well, then you need to, above all else, give them as little reason as you can to think they can fuck with you without getting a rude awakening that's going to fuck them six ways to Sunday. It's in the eyes, and yes they say they are the windows of the soul but this is more a judge of the measure of a persons boundaries then who they are deep down in some romanticized aspect, you need to look at them in a way that makes them feel as uncomfortable and as scared as you may be.

Five minutes of paperwork with a man drowned in motor oil and grease encrusted overalls, ten minutes of waiting patiently, and a thirty dollar processing fee later and a metallic wind-up garage door rises to reunite me with my first ever love of the unloved and heavily flawed: a green 1994 Ford Taurus with more rust on its underside then a clinic in dire need of a tetanus shot, its tires barely on point for inspection, and an engine that more then i'd like was closer to sounding like a lawn mower than a high performance tool of transportation. It was encompassed absolutely by only one word, and that word is beauty. All things taken care of I approached the front door to unlock it, only to remember that the tumbler for the front had been broken for some time, and in the moment some of the original zeal and majesty started to flake off as much as the paint already was. Once inside though, I took a brief moment in loose my sense and just reminisce in all of the things that I had done with this car, between experimenting with drugs and alcohol on the nights my parents need not know about to losing my virginity in fit of rage as I clumsily struggled to figure out how a woman's bra comes undone. One second thought...maybe I do need to demonstrate a bit more restraint in what I say after all. The rest of my life waiting for me to take part in it, I placed the key in the ignition and allowed myself to think that the key turning over was enough of a reason to think that life was smiling back at me in its own way as I pulled out of the garage and hit the road for the first time in a year.

The breaks were a bit touchy, and if I wasn't mistaken the engine was in dire need of a tune-up after the amount of chugging I could hear with each time it took an intake of gas, but tried and true it was still my baby. A few miles in and I had the misfortune of my inexperience of late being put to the test, an oncoming Prius that was well too rich for my blood to go bumper carting, and in an instinctual flurry of jerky movements I just barely skittered past it and missed by no more than an inch as I sped up nearly twenty miles to reach a yellow light. Using that usual expletives and sizzling verbiage that would make a mother weep, I thought to myself how it was that I managed to finally get my car back to me and already trying to crush my vehicle, and myself into a tin can. But then again, if it weren't for my fast and forward thinking, I don't think I ever would have spotted her: a pretty young thing in more ways then one but she dressed to steal the hearts of men who didn't even have a heart left, and her meager offerings of designer jeans and a tan blouse and posh sunglasses were drenched in pure majesty. She wore heels but they didn't rise more then six inches off of the ground and resonated off the sidewalk in a sort of sequence that would lure you in with enough attention to rival a metronome, and from the little of her eyes you could make out through her shades she seemed to make every passing glance feel like a goddess was gracing you with her presence. But yet, her shoulders held her weight with a sense of karma and humility, as if she had seen the best of the worst and the worst of the best and had lived to merely shrug at the assumptions of anything more then constant existence.

My feet toggled back and forth between the brake and gas fervently, much to the disdain of my fellows of the road, and it was at that moment that I decided that it would prove useful for me to find a place to park, as while admiring someone is one thing I had not wished to get into a car accident doing so. Trust me, explaining to a police officer the reason for why you suddenly became distracted and "grazed" a safety pole and ran over about half a dozen traffic cones isn't always the happiest time, especially when the story starts with clarifying that your girlfriend has a gag reflex and the excitement took the best out of you. Think about it, but then again, that's just one measly way things can turn out for you. Something had been pulling me towards this woman, sending a shiver down my spine as I looked onward in awe and I had felt uncomfortable taking my eyes off of her direction, giving it a few minutes and a block or so of distance I found the answer to my self induced disturbance as I saw a group of four men trailing behind her in hot pursuit. Not necessarily running after her, more or less a speed-walk if anything, but she could tell that someone was tailing her and although I wasn't entirely certain if she knew her stalkers I knew that the situation had warranted a closer look. I turned the car off and was just about to exit when I realized that my backpack had been sitting idly by on the passenger seat, my moniker resting and tainted by its lone outing, but my mind was forming an idea before I had even the slightest clue what kind of fire I would be running into. Reaching across I snatched the backpack up and left my car to run cold as I went on the move in a near sprint, my targets now heading into an alleyway a block down the line and I best guess was that she had assumed there was a way to double back and lose them from the alley...but in truth I knew these street better then most and these men knew the alleyway was nothing more then a dead end where they would leave her with nowhere to run.

Think, Brian, think, you need a plan and you need to cut a few corners on the deduction process. I reached the alleyway and none of them had managed to spot me but in fairness I don't think they anticipated being followed or anyone caring, angling my head to the skies and rooftops I saw a small drainage duct that ran from the top of the building all the way down to the ground level, most likely for the purpose of channeling rain water. No time to lose, I leapt onto the duct and started to climb up it, my grip wasn't the best and it made me really wish I was a bit more appreciative in gym class when we did fitness training, but a minute in and I reached the roof three stories above the action. Never much of a voyeur, and never one to beg for attention, I swallowed the awkwardness of the situation as I quickly disrobed and changed into my costume as fast I could as a cold breeze set in. It was far too high up to discern any of the dialogue between them, but she was clearly trapped and frustrated by her attackers cornering her, remembering something I learned from a teacher of mine back in eleventh grade I felt a weight from within lift and I found myself falling from the very building I had just climbed. Halfway down I repositioned myself and grabbed ahold of a rung from a nearby fire escape and launched myself into one of the four harassers, my leg connecting dead on with the side of his face and sending him back a good ten feet into a steel garbage disposal, once again adrenaline masking a metric ton of pain surging through my lower limb as I crouched down Indian style with both hands resting against my thighs.

"Do you mind telling me why you are harassing this young woman in broad daylight...?" My eyes drained of all emotion and viscosity, and I became fixated on the remaining trio who were unable to take their eyes of either myself or their fallen companion.

"That...is none of your business...you freak!" The teen at the forefront of the group said.

"Carlos...he isn't waking up, man, what are we going to do?" Another man, a bit younger in the back shouted frantically as he had rushed over to check on my handiwork. With a quick flick of the hands he sent the other two able bodied men over my way to enact a bit of vengeance, although in this fashion it was less retribution and more cowardice, one approaching me with a knife first in a rushing frenzy which I quickly countered by placing a small piece of pottery laying by my feet and landing it against his forehead with as much force as I could. Now the only taker I had to rumble was blindly running at me with steam coming from his eyes and ears and swung a right hook which connected and lodged one of my canines into my cheek and drew blood, and after spitting it out I let out a small laugh of and sucker punched him right between his breast plates and had him gasping for air within seconds. Picking him up by his hair, of which there wasn't much to begin with, and made and date for his face against the wall of brick and mortar as I now cracked my knuckles and turned my attention back to their leader. He stood before me, not scared of me but instead determined to do better then the others, although his hands were unrestrained and shaking back and forth as if he was afraid of me even getting within a mile of him. I stepped in front of my intended damsel in distress sporting locks of strawberry blonde who now just seemed like she was trying to calm herself, a small can of pepper spray was in her right hand but I had the distinct feeling it was intended to keep me honest, and above all else I could further decipher a small bump protruding from the base of her waist.

"You bendejo...she is a murdering bitch! And you are going to defend this piece of trash! Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't skin you alive?!" The knife was being scatter-brainily waived around as if he was trying to write his name in the air, and like most caged animals he was more then willing to lash out, but I had the advantage of his doubting his own abilities in combat. "What does this even have to do with you anyway, fucker!"

"I'm going to take a wild guess, and say the same reason as her...my body, my choice. And right about now, I fancy giving you a tattoo care to the courtesy of this shattered porcelain if you don't fuck off!" Twenty seconds passed of a staring contest for the ages, culminating in him yielding first and backing up until he reached the mouth of the alley and skirted off and out of sight, a pair of eyes burning through the back of my head as I looked back at my reluctant dancing partner. "Do you need any help, by any chance?"

"You mean more then you already have?" She poised herself, the sass catching me off guard and making me chuckle in relief that she was unbelievably settled.

"Always." I said back to her, my own words of comfort being juxtaposed as soon as I said them.

"No...I think I can manage for another eight miles. Unless you have a car in that cape of yours?" A brisk smile bore warmth that was enough for the both of us, and started off down and out of the dark concrete crevice, I followed along but a slower pace to give her a sense of safety.

"You know, I don't at the moment, must of left it in the other cape. But someone will be along to help you eventually, right?"

"You know...i'm starting to think you're new here."

"No...i'm just hopeful."

"That's dangerous you know...my names Penelope by the way, I guess I owe you that much, huh?" A soft motion of the right hand and she marched back into a thin veneer of mist that had called it quits on the rest of my day, both obscuring my work and my newest connection to the land of the living and leaving me with nothing more then a ratty knapsack and a long, belated sigh to follow.

"Tell me about it..."


	21. Paid Leave

It had never been a pleasant ordeal to placed as the mayor of Gotham, and in most cases the people would find themselves voting as best they could and only discovering the will of their candidates after they had won, either becoming corrupt in order to secure safety or ending up in the east bay soon after their inauguration ceremony. You'd need to have the right face, the right record, the right voice, every single element of your being had to exude happiness and hope to such a point when you practically shit out rainbows on command if you ha any realistic expectations of making it out here. This city was aging and mutating into a shadow of its former self and they all could read the writing on the wall of this cold tomb of a metropolis, people were scraping by on the desperation and kindness of others in one moment and being leeched dry by those who held a bitter intent and more lethal a means to persuade others to their side. Diplomacy had died with their white knight Harvey Dent, officially reported to having been murdered by the masked vigilante Batman a little more then a year ago, and now the days of trying to fight back with clever wit and using loopholes within the legal system were nothing more then a faint whisper. The people had spoken for justice, they had spoken for blood, like an angered mob with torch and pitchfork summoning the devil himself to their aid...they found their marked savior in the guise of Harold Ambrosia.

His two predecessors spanned a total of a staggering forty years dating back to the deaths of the ever precedented Martha and Thomas Wayne with the somewhat loose willed and sparsely valued Aubrey James, who was well received by the public as he made deals with both criminals and police departments alike to provide a quick solution. That being said, sometimes the fastest solution wasn't the one that was done using the best tactics or even the best deductive reasoning, as in the case of the aforementioned murders he moved to arrest on the cases first lead and pressured the GCPD into making an arrest regardless in order to boost his political appeal and put the people of Gotham at ease. After his removal some time later from office, he was met by a stark opposite in power known as Anthony Garcia, a far younger political idealist who swore to appease the people by using civility and proper procedure above all else. With the appearance of Batman two years into his term however, things were starting to look murky as the polls began showing the people were more interested in a new brand of justice from this faceless newcomer and backroom brawler then his educated ethics. He supported the bat in every which way that he could, all the while stating no official involvement in the matter and instructing the police to allow his assistance as long as he kept his word and refrained himself from stepping on anyone's toes. One of the few times that everyone seemed to be content with the way things were run, but when the mafia became backed into a corner between an overly enthusiastic district attorney, a mayor who was longing for re-election, and a wild card who was beating their men into bloody submission, they called on aid from a man they knew only as "the Joker."

The swath of destruction left five public officials and thirty-seven decorated officers in shallow graves, and Garcia was drug through the mud all the way into impeachment some two months later, leaving with a smile on his face to try and save his reputation but there was an underlying shame in his eyes that you'd have to a fool not to point out. Ambrosia hit the scene as a friend of his from college, who had supported him through and through stating that he had been a faithful mayor, the recent events having been something that would have made a mockery of any political vehicle and off of that stance he planted the seeds of his own career. Vowing the same public relations speech that they all did, but he had spent enough time in the dirtiest streets to have grit and reliance that people were clamoring for, and on election day he took home eighty-seven percent of the votes in a historical landslide. The Joker had meant to show the people of the world that Gotham was an infection underneath the surface that was bubbling up, and that their lives were all just meaningless in the long run for as long as they continued to play along with the secrets of quote en quote "scary people." What he left behind was a crack in the sidewalk, and Harold let the infection sprout back up at the cost of innocent people and the benefit of the drug trade which exponentially served as a weed sprouting from it.

It was just after noon on a Friday, October 30th to be exact, when he had issued the two highest ranking officials of the department to meet him at his office for a standardized status report of the lot of everything that had taken place in the last handful of days, the media had been breathing down his throat ever since it happened and he had spent his night sleeping in to avoid a statement. Both and Melvin and James had arrived a few minutes later then his original orders, but he had a small lunch delivered so he was satiated at the moment, slumped over his desk indulging the urge to eat and attempting as best he could to ignore the urge to fall asleep on his desk using his pastrami sandwich as a pillow. The door creaked open in a hurried precession of footsteps and the two entered his domain and sat down in a fit of belated breath, each of them holding a stack of papers in hand of which he had assumed were him, seeing as after three marriages and three divorces he hadn't felt he was that fortunate. Taking in a heaping mound of pastrami into his mouth with greedy anticipation he motioned for the duo to proceed with their report as he nearly found himself scraping red pepper garlic sauce off of his fine Armani suit, although the two relented for just a moment as they saw a momentary irritation in his eyes as begrudgingly failed to find a napkin to offset the mess he had been making.

"Boys...i'm not in the mood for suspense, now I asked you here for a report on what the fuck is going on out there! What happened at the station? I have every feminist and wannabe Gloria Allred hounding me over an official statement, so you have better brought me something." He barked, halfway through having almost choked on a piece of a half mangled rye bread.

"They used some kind of directed energy weapon, it sent out a pulse which caused paralysis to most of the officers at the station. From our findings at the scene, it seemed as if half of them were somehow immune to the weapon but we don't have any further leads." Gordon had been the first to speak up, while his counterpart sat quietly and let him walk across the fire.

"And the incident at the mall, i'm guessing that you didn't burst in there and give them a what for? Did you, commissioner?" He was snarling at this point, a hellish fire in his as if he was expecting a far better outcome from his finest.

"No sir, at the moment I was off duty sir, I had already gotten all of my paperwork done for the end of the month. With all due respect sir, we didn't exactly have a way of predicting that any of this was going to take place." He tried to reason with a raging bull that just happened to also sign his paychecks, as he had been angrily adjusting his collar.

"Commissioner, you came into this office, and from the moment I saw you approach my desk I could smell alcohol on your clothing. I don't care if you do it on your own time or if you are taking shots with the fucking Delhi Llama, in the midst of everyone that's going on you should have known better then to be intoxicated in a crisis situation. I have already spoken to Melvin about this, and considering the recent losses in senior staff, I am going to have him take your position as of today and you are going to be let go." He hadn't taken his eyes off of James for a second, who right about now was completely speechless and couldn't manage to do more then pan back and forth between the two of them as he soaked in the situation in full. "I'm sorry, James, hand in your gun and your badge."


	22. The Constant

Meanwhile on the other side of town, hours had passed and the day had given way to night and the night slipped past into the early dawn, and a young Harley Quinn now found herself purchasing a round-trip ticket on the first ferry leaving the dock to Arkham Island. Her mothers own slippery persuasion had given her a new lease at an unfazed track record with both the legal system and her school district to boot, and she had appealed to be able to return with enough good favor to still participate in her day-at-work program, which she had set in place some time prior as her own means of determining where her future might take her. She had the same privilege that the rest of her classmates had, as they could choose any establishment that would accept her and that had something to do with her own desired career path, and much to the chagrin of her teachers she chose to select Arkham Asylum on behalf on her own morbid curiosity for the mentally ill. The permission had been a slow one to grant, both on the side of the staff and the schools superintendent, having spent some time debating whether or not the locale was appropriate for someone who they had deemed reckless and easily susceptible to suggestion. But ultimately the decision was reached and she had been approved, on the grounds that she be detained to simple nursing duties while she was there shadowing the orderlies, and that she not leave the basic care wing. Neither of the players in this game were so gullible to believe that the danger of Arkham was self contained by security checkpoints and signs in bold font, these men populated over eighty percent of their wards and they were as manipulative as any serpent in the grass waiting to pray on those who hadn't known any better.

Her school had felt it best to give in to her wishes and saw it as a means to scare her back into a submission that would reinforce that the men that she was asking after, and in her own words lusting for, were monsters in the bodies of man and weren't meant to be taken so lightly. Little had they known of her own intentions, as instructed by Pamela herself, she had been told of a rumor that while the press had blacked out any and all mention of the diabolical clown of cyanide, carbon dioxide and broken promises, more inside statements from trusted sources had subtly hinted that the last place he had been seen was in a damp and long forgotten cell in the deepest depths of the insane asylum. She had a shiver running up and down her spine that she couldn't shake, as if she was imagining about finally getting to meet him at long last, and his cold touch running across her entire being as she was whisked away into the dead of night to dismantle the establishment from start to finish. She fantasized quite often about something similar to this, the locations changed but she always was with him, and he would speak to her in this way that made her believe that he understood just how malevolent and deceitful the world really was. Harley thought through most of her life that no one could understand the way she talked or felt about things, whether it be the rush when she saw a car topple over or simply the feeling of having someone wrapped around her fingers, she didn't lust for control but she would control for the right person. Would it feel as magical as I think it's going to when those hands are running through my hair? Could I be able to live up to such a reputation for bloodshed and anarchy? She was loading onto the ferry and took her seat as she allowed herself to continue until the boat had reached shore once again, a middle-aged man looking at her intermittently the whole trip, she could tell he was staring at her chest mostly. It made her feel sick to her stomach, and then she thought if only her Joker had been here at this moment, and then he would strangle him with his bare hands just for the thought. And that made her smile.

A loud foghorn had taken her out of the deep slumber brought on by the gentle rhythm of the ocean waves, and as she momentarily stumbled back to her feet in a daze she gathered her few belongings and touched down on the torn surface of the wooden dock, her legs still felt like jelly but she nevertheless managed to reach the entrance to the hospital. A rather heavyset guard met her and patted her down before going over her entire body with a sort of wand-shaped metal detector, only then to have her entire book bag and picked about and scanned two or three times just by itself, all in all the only thing that managed to get confiscated was a pack of gum which apparently was seen as a "weaponization risk." However someone would make a shank or a bomb out of a piece of gum was beyond her, but in all fairness in her mind if something or someone was that intuitive to actually accomplish something like that, then they most likely shouldn't be here to begin with. After a painfully dull entrance and opening word from an orderly who hadn't done much more then take permission slip to prove she belonged there and send her into a room to start folding sheets, Quinn was left by her lonesome as she had left the room to deal with what she had considered "a far more important use of her time." One. Twelve. Thirty six. Under and over, over and under. It had only been five minutes but she seen no sight of her de facto guardian, so her mind teased the idea of ditching and trying best she could to blend in and find the answers that she had come there to find in the first place, although a blinking light out of the corner of her eye alerting her to one small problem hanging the ceiling in the corner of the room.

Sixty two. Sixty Four. Seventy. Not missing a beat, she scanned the room as she continued with her dolt duties and found a single chair tucked into a makeshift table a few feet away from her, and on it she could see that someone had left behind a tube of lipstick. A devilish idea run through her mind, and her legs were just as fast in putting it into motion, skittering past the gaze of the camera and hugging the walls as best she could her feet carried her all the way to her tools. The chair wasn't heavy but it scratched the floor with enough force that the bloody eardrums it would entail made her reconsider pushing it without thinking first, instead she lifted it a foot off the ground until she reached the camera while she had the lipstick tucked away in a vice grip of her two rows of teeth. Climbing atop of the chair on her knees, she looked into the camera and used it as if it were a mirror and applied the lipstick to her lips until it came in a thick, even coating and she leaned in close with both hands caressing the camera and laid an overly dramatized kiss on its lens. The lens now obscured by the glob of cherry red, she let out an extended giggle as she stood up from the chair, and walked out of the room as she swiped a plain white coat from a hangar in another corner of the room.

"Sorry darling...I don't like anyone except Mr. J watching me...hmmm I love this color, I think I'm going to keep it."


	23. A Fool's Paradise

Through the endless doors and sterile environments there lay a needless attention to detail that was almost painfully trying to make the patients, as few as she could manage to spot as she tirelessly skulked the halls, appear to be completely docile and cooperative with the staff. But the way they longingly looked at her as she caught them in a momentary period of solitude was like looking at an animal, a well trained animal who understand the importance behind not muddying up something had been well rehearsed, there was something laying deeper within that she was forced to delve into if she was going to make any progress. The building had been one of which she expressed much interest in upon her orientation, and while they had been very relenting in giving out any exact details as to how things were run, she had guessed well enough that there were many floors which were divided by the risk associated with the patients on them. Some of the avenues intersected at stairwells or elevators which had only descended deeper, however upon further inspection it appeared that the only people who had been able to access them had specific keycards with to act as a key. As much as she wasn't apposed to roughing someone up and making a run for it, she was wondering around in a lab coat without any identification and a face that was eventually going to be a dead giveaway that something wasn't on the level, she was in a delicate balance to reach her goals while still retaining a status of inconspicuousness. Heading down on stairwell and keeping her head down each time she ran into a member of the staff, she tried her very utmost to simply give them little to shake their head at and merely hoped that they would walk the other way, the wells were going to the same areas but they were leading into a maze of corridors that were a fair bit more misleading.

The thought weighing on my her mind that this had been a stretch that most employees wouldn't dare venture to unless the situation made it impossible to do otherwise, which made her swallow her pride as she took a deep breathe and regain her composure, a gesture soon proven useless as the door to the nearest floor had flung open wildly and two men came flying out in its wake. The first of the two was another orderly who was just as physically capable as the others, most likely a man of Latin American descent in her early thirties, while the other was a much younger man at around her age who had been holding the mans arms behind his back as a means to keep me under control. First method of solving a solution is to understand the little nuances of why and how it happened in the first place, but Harley sat back and hopped up a few steps as the musclebound man sent himself flying backwards in an attempt to bash his attacker off the wall and free himself, guttural noises were coming from both parties and it was difficult to tell who was making which. Though his arms were still being held in a sort of stalemate in a circumstance which his copious amounts of pushups had done little to improve, he motioned towards her to assist him and only saw the falsely commandeered white coat, he couldn't see the pure horror that was in her eyes that had been pouring out from her soul. Now, as if by a well established sense of balance in nature, the patient spoke out to her in desperation and a slight speech impediment mirroring the shaky movements and buckling of her legs in his own voice.

"Lady...I know you aren't a doctor...I don't know who the hell you are...but you have to help me! Please...you don't know what's going on here...what he is going to do to me if you don't help me. Whatever you need...I swear to god...I will get you it. Just...help me!" He was struggling to keep his captured fellow in check, and it would only be a few more moments before the tables turned back on themselves.

One last grunt, one swift rush of air as the two men now exchanged positions and the brute now sat competently atop of him and began to deal blows across his jaw, one after another in quick succession and a muffled snap could be heard on the air as his jaw presumable gave in but it stop his assailant. A harsh gargling of blood and other bodily fluids was screaming into her ears as she could hear a faint static soon take hold, and the entire stairway was home to an audience of steps casting judgment on her lack decision. Would this man die in front of her? Did he even deserve to die? Was there something that had made his choice of attacking a staff member justified? What would she have asked of her friends or family do for her? A fire extinguisher was housed in a small ledge built into wall beside her, and it began calling her out in one moment and then bribing her in the next, she moved towards it as if within a trance, and with a little guidance and follow-through she swung it straight into the back of the orderlies head. But she wasn't satisfied with that one blow, no of course not, she locked her eyes onto his now incapacitated form and struck again and again and again: the crunch was like music to her ears and she took the opportunity to take as much time as she could losing herself in the moment until she had found herself entirely covered in a red crimson base. Quinn always adored that color, it could use a little bit of black mixed in for the sake of variety, but she craned her head over to her newly acquired friend and began to giggle in a way that a little girl does just before she realizes that she has a ticklish spot despite her own hopes.

"It's... a really bad day...day to lose ones head...hahahaheeehaaheeho." It almost seemed to fill the space around her, but her longing to continue was bested but her own lungs petitioning for air, she crawled over to the man left standing who had been trying to hold the right side of his jaw steadily in place and tore off a small portion of her coat sleeve. Using one hand to secure the unabated half of his face, she wrapped the stained rose cloth around and just under his chin, at first he mumbled in a pained fit of disapproval but she quickly adjusted it to his liking. "You..are going to help me find my man...what's that? You're thrilled to be apart of my team and you cant wait to meet him? Me...neither. Wait, you say you find me unbelievably attractive? Tisk tisk, the attention is appreciated but i'm a one-man kind of gal, better keep those naughty thoughts to yourself bub. Why don't you save all of that wonderful energy and tell me where I can find my Mr. J?"

"The clown!? How the fuck would I know where he's at? Last thing I heard he got axed by the last asshole they sent to be his roommate. They were trying to get rid of him for months, or at least that's what the word on the ward is, your psychopath just got the drop on the first dozen." He was gritting his teeth all the way through his retort, but she wasn't doubting his belief in the words, a strong sense of rage surged through her.

"Who...was his...roommate!" Harley demanded and in a single second she had him up against the wall, her own makeshift medical handiwork in her grasp and based on her mood she had little qualms with undoing her good deed of the day, something twisted was willing her to keep pressing her prey up against the wall. Maybe it was the thought of her own emotions and affection being so selfishly denied by the hands of another who was so foolish as to not understand just how much that he had left to do with his life, maybe it was the kneejerk reaction of her own lovelorn fight or flight response that was making her recoil in denial that she had come all this way for nothing to come home with. But something was contorting within her and far more had already been broken, like a small harlequin doll she had gotten when she was just a toddler, her mother had claimed that she was reminded of her daughter every single time she looked at it and couldn't resist. She told her that there was a hidden beauty in the inner workings of a the femme fatale and that it wasn't her style or her looks, as they were just a window dressing to complement the main course, the truth she told her was that there was a complexity that made her special. She loved that doll for so long, and when she had accidentally left it behind somewhere, hours of searching had given it back to her in shambles and covered in dirt and grime from top to bottom. However, once again her mother sat her down while cried into her shoulder in a fit of humiliation over disgracing her most prized possession and she told her this:

_"Harls...it's still a beautiful doll, just like you are my beautiful daughter, mommy's proud of you."_

_"Why...? I ruined it...it can never be pretty again..."_

_"It cant be what it was...but that doesn't mean that I cant be something better. Change makes us better. You just need to remember to let some things happen..."_


	24. The Week Long Strong

_Come on...you know how my mom is, if she sees you you'll be crucified or set on fire or something..._

_I personally prefer to be slow roasted on a lake of fire...but I suppose I can make an exception this once..._

_Brian...do you think that it would a good idea to get away from here..._

_Well...it'd definitely make it easier not having to park in a separate zip code just to say goodnight..._

_You know...I always wondered...about certain things..._

_Like global warming? The hungry children in Swaziland? Why Madonna is still relevant to the news?_

_No...about how things could've been different...you know? Between all of us..._

_What's this about Carmen? You haven't been the same lately..._

_When I go away to school at the end of the summer...Bri...i'm going to go to school in Boston. _

_(If you love something...let it go...if it comes back to you...)_

_What do you think...about all of this?_

_(...If it doesn't...)_

_I think that I cant wait to hear about all of the racial stereotypes you'll fall into in college, i'm happy for you._

_(...it was never yours...)_

_"Brian...you have to understand."_

_"You're going to catch a bad break one day, kid."_

_"You don't know what love is..."_

_I'm...sorry._

The night had barely began to break when my eyes first opened, weary and encrusted in a goo the likes of which no sane man would dream of getting used to, my back was aching to the extent of my sleep being nothing more then a fools hope. Rising out of the soft confines of my bed I rose out of my room and made my way down the hall and over towards the fridge, mostly comprised of alcohol and aging and depreciating takeout food which was wafting a putrid odor my way, the cumulative nature of my pain was taking its toll so I settled with a quick swig of a brownish colored liquid. In my own right mind I wouldn't exactly have opted for spirits to cure my ills right away, in fact I most likely would have gone for anything else seeing as I was in no mood for a hangover, but in the end I let my despondent body do the talking and went for the easiest way out of my predicament. Looking over just briefly at a clock built in to Michael's microwave, which considering its uselessness of late the clock had been its only real purpose or function, it was minutes after five in the morning. The couch had been another option to choose from, although my restless mind had convinced me that once I was awake I wasn't going to go through the pain of having to fall asleep again, my form was like a dark phantom moving through the flat as a few electronics and a nightlight were all that illuminated my surroundings. Ever since I had been a kid, I had trained myself to become far more competent in the night as opposed to the day, one reason for such was my propensity to staying up at all hours of the night and after awhile my body just simply adjusted to follow suit.

There was a small hook by the door which housed all of the necessary keys for both Michael and myself, my own casual nature of crashing here in the past having changed the way I saw what makes up a home, and in more ways than one changing the way he had seen himself. He may have been my godfather for as long as I have been alive, but he only acted like it since I started crashing here, even before my extended leave he would just see me as more of a kid who wasn't really his problem and had allowed me to do whatever I pleased. Sometime things change for the better, and sometimes they merely change. I inaudibly removed my spare key from the hook and slid out of the door as if I was a specter or some sort of cliché horror monster levitating itself out of bed, taking only my backpack with me as I locked the door behind me and turned my back to the apartment. There was a stairwell which led all the way to the roof of the building off the right of my current position, and I brisk fully moved through the halls with a sense of grace that I felt imperative in order to not awake any of the residents still enjoying their beauty sleep. Twenty six. Thirty nine. I counted each and every step as I went, my own seemingly maddening way to commit to memory just how far I had gone, as if my own eyes and ears weren't enough to truly believe it all. Reaching the roof I found the door unlocked, as per the usual, considering the time it fell right into the hour long window from five to six in which the cleaning crew would be sent up to do their normal duties...only thing is that the cleaning crew was religiously tardy and the people in charge of their salaries were even more lethargic.

I slunk down to the ground against the railing which had hugged the edge of the roof itself, my mind was a complete blank slate that had asked for neither sleep nor nourishment, I was like a bear in winter who had known the harshness of the world but understanding that his fur coat would fall short when it mattered most. My fingers traced along the material of my backpack, and then along its zipper as I proceeded to open it once more and looked at my sleek and comforting outfit, and in the midst of a cold breeze smacking me in the face at the all but break of dawn I let it cover me. And as I lay there in a bubble of sustainability my eyes caught sight of the fact that the mask had fallen out and now was staring me in the face, and with it, a million worries rushed through my mind as I recounted my own short-sighted behavior. Why had I been so reckless? What if someone were to figure out it was me? In a town like this, no one can stand tall against the mafia, can they? And yet despite it all, I felt a pulsating sense of pride and inner strength in the reminiscence in my actions, I had been pleased with what I had done and how I had made them pay. If nothing else of my motives had been clear, it was obvious that the anonymity and the action was rekindling a fire in me that I had felt was long dead. Gotham had decided to give my life back to me, above all other people in question, and now I could do something about the opportunity that stood before me and not make the mistakes I had made before. Things could be different, things could be better, and now with the world given back to me I was not only free but I was also in control of a small fortune to top it off. But if there was going to be a better future for me, I needed to find a foundation with which to build it on.

It was a Monday coming into focus, and with it was a new week, the very first full week I would have back home since. I was still living off of a couch and random scraps that I had been able to find in Michaels fridge, and as much as I longed to put myself back into the land of the living, in the first five days of my return I had done little to rejuvenate the life I once had. My first thought had been to make a small visit to a small restaurant a ways away in town, of which for the longest time had been my stomping grounds four to five days a week as a teen, working on minimum wage as a dishwasher to fund my own idiotic endeavors in and out of school with my friends. It wasn't a difficult job by any means and neither did I make a grand living doing what I did, but for each and every day that I worked and every dollar I had in my possession I had the luxury of knowing that I had worked long and hard for it, and even though the masses disapproved I could not have cared less. I was seen by so many women who I had tried to pursue or peers that I had tried to befriend as a lowly outcast who had no business being deserving of their attention, but this only made the friends I actually did have that much grander in size and scope. And besides, while the lot of them would end up attending "prestigious" colleges and racking up thousands upon thousands of dollars in student loan debts, I stood in the real world and saw genuine people falling upon hard times and getting by all the while learning things about life that they never would. I realized there what it was like to have next to nothing, how one would drink to forget the day that just passed and the next one that was about to befall them, I understood desperation very well.

Eight o'clock sharp struck and Mike left the apartment once again in my able hands, or at least as able as he hoped them to be in his absence, my hands sifted through a small bowl of uneaten and unloved Halloween candy before I devoured it in one bite. No doubt, the breakfast of champions. The occasion had come and gone without much of a difference in the wind, and not many people strayed from their homes in order to obtain their coveted diabetes fuel of which I too had been weak to, here people had grown skittish to be seen with or around others in costumes. Between the masked vigilantes who had been sworn to protect the everyday man only to wind up being painted as murderers themselves, and the horrors of those psychotic minds veiled in grease makeup and a cheap suit, people had no reason to give their lives to hope and declined to open to their doors to the children who may be following in their footsteps. And now, poor saps like me sat upon a field of minimalistic victory and took the unwanted sweet confections as a well earned and appreciated comfort, my teeth no doubt to be painted brown for the next hour to come as I made my way out into the streets of Gotham with my rucksack in tow. After the last few days of going to and from in my heavily tasked vehicular love, I thought it best not to test fate and I flagged down the first cab I saw as my eyes burned in their own way of finally coping with being fully awake.

"Take me to Vincenzo's Pub, please, and not in a rush or anything but if you're willing to make my day a little more interesting...get there in five minutes and this is all yours, man." I motioned with my hands and revealed a small stack of four hundred dollar bills that were sitting idly by in my hand, the driver of the cab chuckling in an almost moronic fashion before slamming on the gas with a crazed sense of ambition and the car's odometer soon went towards triple digits.

"Hold on to your ass, kid, we might end up hitting something!" He shouted back at me without actually meeting my gaze.

"...and what about the cops!" My remark had meant to break the ice and perhaps get me there a bit faster, but as he was barely maneuvering around the leagues of other cars and missed clipping his mirror once or twice I was regretting my bribe.

"They've got more important things to mess with! Don't worry kid...I've only had my license suspended twice." He chortled as he sped further down the inner city, cars on both sides sputtering about to try and keep a semblance of balance to the road.

"Oh fuck...it's alright, a Prius? Oh, you definitely have insurance, you'll be okay. Jesus! But he might not." No major issues and no one managed to get into an accident, thank goodness, but the DMV might just end up cracking down on their examinations if they know what's best for them.


	25. Reprieve

Not a single renovation or repair had graced the faded exterior for all of the time that I had worked there, all three to four years or so of my employment, although the finer details are a bit murky due to a fair amount of negligence on my part and an exemplary amount of backbone on their part. There were always faces that had seemed to stick around throughout the ages and regardless of their frequency, they always were working in a perpetual sense of technicality, and by all rights I wished to be able say the same for myself and know for certain that I would be welcomed back like a wayward son. True to the words of the agreement, in approximately four and a half minutes the cab screeched to a final halt and launched a last assault on the eardrums of the populace, my mentally disregarded chauffeur now satisfied with his gracious offering he drove off into the macadam jungle of busy street corners at a reasonable pace as his muffler just narrowly refused falling to the ground. My eyes were scoping out the place, which much to my surprise actually had been given a once over in the not so distant past, a brand new coat of a lavish red was proudly and vividly inviting people into the restaurant. All hopes taken at face value, it was my best bet to try and find the manager an speak with him directly, although the burley beast most likely wouldn't be immeasurably pleased to see me coming to him. No matter the reasons behind my little visit today, in the back of his mind i'm sure he could put two and two together and rationalize why I might just so happen to be in the neighborhood, but in matters such as these I also knew that I might just have to swallow my pride over the past.

Entering further it was obvious that the entire place had been spruced up just a bit, and where there had been crayon marks sprawling up the length of the walls from inventive youth drug out by their parents in a desperate frenzy for peace and quiet when a babysitter was just out of the question, now a fine layer of patterned red white and framed stock images now hugged the walls. I stood off to the side as to avoid confusion and within minutes I was already being placed and flagged down by women who had been former coworkers of mine, although my memory was a bit fuzzy and for the most part I simply smiled and nodded along with their commentary as politely as I could. It was just my way, with my I had this very visceral mentality towards any place I had ever worked at, it was nothing more to me then a place I came to so many hours a week in order to get the money I needed. Nothing more. And trust me, it's not like some people might claim that I was just unimpressed or disenchanted with my current situation, I've had jobs all across the board and when it came down to it I was the same way...although in hindsight my attitude might have been part of my problem. I've been an usher and concession attendant at a movie theater, a fast food crew member in far too many places to go over fine details, I was a dishwasher in both family and fine dining, I did retail for a short time, and also spent roughly six months doing stock at a local grocery store where most of my job was them paying me to organize boxes. I know, its truly exhilarating work, but it was a job and considering what I had go through at the time I was far from being in a position to judge or be picky about where I was making my money. And they weren't all bad, each new job was a brand new experience and a new Halloween outfit to add to my closet and scare people, my personal favorite is a douse myself in fake blood and don my fast food uniform and just tell people im working in a dead-end job. Hell, at the movie theater I got to intimidate people with a flashlight and got catch a lovely young woman giving her boyfriend a blowjob through the cup holder, I didn't turn them in though...points should be given for the clever technique, and plus the movie fucking sucked enough that it needed a blowjob to make it bearable.

A large mass came out of the back of the kitchen and upon spotting me made his way towards my position, his expression a close stalemate between a victorious grin and a pained look of disappointment, I motioned upward at him with my head and extended my hand for a handshake but instead I was left hanging in the breeze until I retracted it back into my pocket. There was a moment of suffocating silence between the two of us, and in retrospect there wasn't much of a better expectation for how this was going to happen, and for the record I was standing in front of a man who had done much for me completely in the wrong for my own past transgressions. What did I do, exactly? The short, abridged version was that I became blinded by a woman, and the long version is that my duties became a secondary concern to me and I foolishly gave him everything but the middle finger after he stood up for me and stuck his back out for me. I never found myself asking to be an asshole or trying to let him down, after all he had actually a friend of the family as well which only added to the embarrassment, but time makes a fool of us all when we are so stupid to think we can burn a bridge and not have any consequences for it.

"Hey...Markus...how's business been?" I inquired innocently enough, but he didn't back down from his glare, but instead looked at me for a few more seconds before dismissively walking a few steps away and returning to his business.

"Alright, I guess, we're usually slow around this time of year. Is there something I can do for you?" He was peering into my soul, obviously trying to cut through the small talk and pleasantries as quickly as possible. Personally I didn't blame him.

"Listen, Mark, I...its just...i'm sorry for how I acted back when I worked here. I was putting other people in my life above all of my priorities, and because of it I sold out all of you, I just got lost in being a teenager...I thought something meant everything and it only turned out to be nothing. I didn't have the faintest clue about priorities, and as much as I don't expect you to, i'd...like my job back." I gulped loudly as I shakily said the lot of it without having once let my eyes lose sight of his, trying to be as sincere as I could, the memories were flooding in like the levy had broken and now there wasn't any filter to keep me from the things I had tried so hard to erase from my mind. Between hypnotism, copious amounts of meaningless sex, mental reinforcement, and even watching trashy television thinking that if I could damage my brain enough that I would have enough cells to process memory all together: I had done all that I could to keep myself permanently at a distance from my lapses in judgment. But now was the moment of clarity, this is where things were just plain enough, some things wait in the shadows of the subconscious until we can acknowledge them ourselves.

"I heard about what happened to your old man, it's fucked up, it really is. There were also some rumors circulating around you having a trip upstate, some people thought you had lost your fucking mind, they said we'd find you streaking up and down fifth avenue." You could tell from the glassy and glossed over look in his eyes that he was being slightly emotional at the mention of everything that took place, or at least the little that he had heard via osmosis, but from his last comment he managed to relieve the tension with a slight chuckle which I soon matched with a weak smile and a bit of laughter of my own. "I can sit here and yell and scream until i'm blue in the face but I don't think that would do any good, you came in here and had even sense to tell me what you did and something's telling me that you aren't fucking with me. Listen, kid, uh I mean...Brian, can you wait here a sec?"

His full name had been Markus Wilhelm, a man who had spent a vast majority of his life being established as a portly gentleman who was always dealing with his weight going up and down in quick succession, and when he wasn't having to contend with that he would be either out for a surgery to try and correct the problem or he'd be at work making awkward and inappropriate jokes. Or at least they seemed to be jokes from the sound of things, it was almost always hard to tell one way or the other because if they were jokes they never really had a distinguishable punch line, more or less just going for the pure shock factor. When I first started working for him I was a sixteen year old boy who hadn't even stepped out of his comfort zone, nor had I experienced a decent relationship or really any friendships to speak of, and so I stared onward with grandeur and lauded his tact. But as my former boss shuffled away from me with a sense of urgency that men half his size would dream of having, the main fact that was pounding its way into my train of thought was when he took back calling me a kid, even though it was never a derogatory term he had relented and merely called me Brian instead. In that moment Markus had realized something that even I was slow to accept, maybe for the fact that I had let the last year plus of my life go by the wayside without much of a thought to the future, and that fact was that i'm not a kid anymore.

"Hey Travis, it looks like you'll get Sunday's off, after all. You're fired!" He shouted from out of my sights but not far enough away that I could not hear, my jaw dropped at the sound of what he was saying, but then he swung back around and into frame to face me with a stance and expression that looked like he was ready for a victory dance.

"Sir, no offense and all, but I don't particularly feel comfortable getting my job back because you fired someone else." I was tense and to the point, quickly showing in my eyes that I was taken off guard that he had given me back my position, let alone lay someone off just to get me back.

"Don't worry so much, Brian. And besides, I would've fired him sooner or later regardless, he's a useless sack of shit anyway." Markus smiled back at me and gave me a hearty pat to the back in much the same way you might get encouragement from a high school football couch, a disgruntled teenager stormed out from the back of the restaurant with a sheen of acne gracing his face and a clueless expression. There were so many people that I had come across that had that same face, but then again it might have just come with the territory when you spend forty hours in public school just to go to work and have people telling you that you aren't really special. Some would go so far as to describe it as "special snowflake syndrome," where basically society sets you up for failure by not teaching you any real skills to prepare you for the workforce and you just simply sink or swim at a moments notice. But then again, he was young and had a little more time to get another job, I silently wished him the best.


	26. Carapheneilia

Before I could even regain my footing, there were already offers being thrown about of having my next few days filled with work, leaving me with a nice cushion of a four day weekend stemming from Thursday to next Monday just in case I wasn't entirely adjusted to the old familiar grind. He told me that he had longed for the day when he could see my mug walking through the front doors once again, and that everything that had happened ate away at him regardless of whether or not it was his fault, he told me of how my mother would come in now and then to eat and he would recollect of the days when he had someone as dependable as I was. The feeling of someone appreciating what you do, especially in this instance where you find yourself in a line of work where most forget to do so, was something that was beyond words and in my silence he marched back to his office once again with a toothy grin for new hire paperwork. It wasn't very difficult of a task to get back into their fairly simple computer system, which mostly consisted of scanning an inch thick stack of papers which called for me to give me signature and social security over a dozen times, merely a formality in this case. A laminated sign-in card was the cherry on top of the whole process as I walked out of there, admittedly and surprisingly enough, with a smile on my face and a feeling of a confidence that welled from the depths of infinity. But some things cropped up to the surface of my thoughts once again, not just as I left that day, not just I went about the rest of my day or even the two that would come to follow, there was this sense of euphoric insanity that would creep in as my mind just kept forgetting the present in exchange for a constant feedback loop of my memories.

_Well, actually i'm a dishwasher...I know, it's not glamorous or anything, but at least I get to go to work lookin' good._

_Oh, really? _

_No, i'm serious, I mean I don't mean to brag or anything. But the ladies, don't even get me started, the second I put on my pair of black slacks that have that hole in the crotch that I just cant seem to sew back in place. Trust me, they go wild. _

_I'll bet, Brian. I believe you, you'll get all of the dish bitches._

Things could be so much better then they ever were before, the lump protruding from my pocket gave me another boost to my confidence as I could figure I had at least four thousand dollars still on me at best guess, and that was easily enough to take any method of public transportation as far as my heart desired. Two days passed by faster then they ever had in my entire life, and forty-eight hours of mundane monotony felt like sledging through a misty bog on anticipation as I could see the light up ahead of me, but the more desire presented itself the light seemed to only draw farther away or in the very least I not move towards it fast enough. Markus originally had wanted to give me that Thursday as many hours as he could to try and boost my first paycheck, but there was a certain phrase I would use in my response towards him that perhaps only people in his generation would have understood, a phrase pulled from a film of which he had often quoted himself as he tried to tell me as best he could the facts of life. That Wednesday night before I made my temporary departure I went into his office with head held high and my back as straight as ever, and I told him that I wasn't going to be in town for the next few days, and that I had decided it best that I take a small trip abroad to deal with something before I returned to work that next week. His face lit up and part of him was longing to poke and prod further into the matter, but he instead smiled and shook his head promptly, knowing that there was little that going to sway me away from my decision and that this was something I just needed to do. For the sake of future, for the sanctity of my own heart, and for my own sanity.

"I've gotta go see about a girl..." I told him.

And without much else needing to be said, my course took me as far as Gotham Central Station, the crowded railways stretching to such exuberant places as Metropolis and the continental united states in their entirety. In my mind, the safety of any man with more then say a few hundred dollars or so on him was questionable at best, but for a little bit of extra capital the company behind these steam locomotives kept a watchful eye on their own consumer base. My home, as much of a cesspool of desperation and the worst of best intentions as it was, remained but a blip on the radar by comparison to the reaches of my metallic coach seat. Settling in for what was to be a long ride, I looked at my ticket in tandem with the warm glow of the sunset, a natural christening to my journey. As far as my ticket had told me, in roughly eight hours I would make my arrival at Boston Central Station, the best time estimation it gave me was just after one o'clock in the afternoon. Midday far more to my liking, I did little to fight the gentle hum of the engine and the synchronized rocking back and forth which served to pull me further into the loving embrace of slumber. There were no haunting visions to accompany my unconsciousness, not a single memory cresting unto the surface which would drain the very energy I sought to capture for the day to come, for the first time in a while all that I felt was peace. A peace within myself that resonated on high, and where reminiscence did occur it was of my own accord, bring a smirk to my face as I owned both the good and the bad and wore it on my sleeve like a sheet of armor. There was so certainty in any of it, and my best estimate told me that this newfound strength would fade in due course, but all I could do was live in that moment as it continued to overtake me and let it be. And I let it be.

Coincidentally enough, the same motioning of the train was able to knock me awake, or if it wasn't the abrupt jolt then it was the result of such as my face went flying into the seat immediately in front of me. Some questionable looks were cast my way, no doubt, but all in all I looked to my right out the circular window and let the sun sting my eyes back into sensibility...as well as wipe away an ungodly amount of drool that was nesting my by left cheek. Not smooth, Brian, not smooth in the slightest. But I was here, a monstrously fluorescent green sign passing by as we slowed to a complete stop at the station, my legs were about as useless as my mind was at this point but I collected my few belongings and made my way down the ramp and off of the train. Some aspect of the venture reminded me of my time in public school, with everyone piling in at an orderly rate and then descending into chaos as the people grew restless and impatient, wiping some dried sand from my eyes and stretching my knees and back as I let the situation sink in. The day was more then half over, but there was still time to do what my heart desired, what had willed me to come in the first place, all that was required was to find a cabbie and let him guide me towards my target. Why? Because I was a floating piece of driftwood in the expansive ocean, completely surrounding by the likes of locales I had never seen before, and to my unfamiliar eyes all I saw was sameness which blended for miles and miles. In short, I had no idea where I was going, all I had was a location that my body was yearning to reach.

Even as my mind places the pieces back together for you, whoever it is that you are, it all was a blur that never seemed to make a dent enough to find a depth that my conscience could hold onto. Much like life itself: we are born with no knowledge of what we are here for, and then we are raised to have enough willingness imbedded in us to discover the hidden secrets and beauty of the world around us, and at some point we become so mortified by the idea of loosing our liveliness that we cling to all that we have. But it's useless really, we all slip away little by little, so why not merely tell things as they are and were. I hopped into a taxi a few blocks from the station after learning first hand that it wasn't as easy as back home to flag someone down, a similar feeling of millions hustling to just keep pace with the metronome of existence that was constantly trailing behind them. The driver had been very helpful, and knew the place I was looking for right away, citing that there were most likely going to be cops swarming the area in a couple of hours due to noise complaints and a nasty streak of destructive debauchery. But it was of little concern of mine, I was determined as I ever was, and in the context of parties I had a giddiness inside of me that went full tilt at the thought...it had been so long since I had immersed myself in the crowds and wisps of smoke. It had been too long. I thought that tonight was going to be the night that I changed that.

The next few hours passed by like a blink of an eye as I briskly made my way around the campus, thanking the stars that my basic garb of a day-old t-shirt and my usual pair of jeans were enough to limit the amount of attention I was receiving, instead with the anonymity I asked around about where everything was going down tonight. Of course, a task that was met with a fair deficit of trust as they most assuredly thought that I was a cop or something, but after a small stack of green was in there hand they eased up and realized I was just a man looking to unwind for the night. I also asked around about Carmen, but to no avail, some people knew who she was but no one could tell me one way or the other if she would be attending any of the festivities of intoxication: it was like I was a sleuth given the chance to solve the ultimate mystery of a lifetime, and all that I needed was to blend in long enough and find my answers in due time. The moon rose from it's own suspension, and with it the very same group of teens who had been warming up to me showed me the way in to a frat house, where tonight an annual rave would take place and a mass of students encompassing all of the schools in the area would attend. They had been even more willing to assist me after I had dug a photo of her out of my outdated and nearly depleted cellphone, making them believe that they would have a chance if I were to fail, which garnered no change in me as all I wanted was this chance to do what I hadn't been brave enough to do so long ago. Placing a PG rating on the lot of what happened after I entered their frat house would be like taking the venom out of a snake, so I can assume that you aren't going to be squeamish by the likes of talk of drugs and alcohol, they poured me a few shots and placed a nice pipe at the ready.

"Alright man, just take a nice...deep...breathe...and then inhale." One of them had said to me, he licked his lips in excitement as they noticed from the very start that all of this was fairly new to me. I took a deep breathe, and leaned in to take the tip of the pipe into my mouth, the tool itself tasting like something had died in it but at the same time retained a nice hickory flavor.


	27. Limerence

Have you ever found yourself passed out in a ditch, not the kind of ditch that is a simple mistake or a mere misunderstanding that you excuse yourself from and move on, but the kind that feels as if its holding you down towards the depths of hell itself as every muscle seems to throb? There's a theory for the most part when people come complaining of symptoms such as these, and that would be a mere love, or rather obsession with the spirits that relax you into a state of pure lunacy that people always fail to mention is their own true selves. You see, the more that you drink the more alcohol is being absorbed into your body and eventually, into your brain. Ever realize why we find ourselves struggling to withhold truths or maintain our inhibitions when a few too many shots of Southern Comfort or Spiced Rum have gone down the right pipe? That's the ticket. And more importantly, if you continue, there's this nice little region of your brain known as the hippocampus which is involved in your ability to store and retain memory: so if you decide to pound away drinks and then cant remember where the negligee came from, that's why. Simply enough, you've compromised the brains ability to record information and store it as memory, and until you have a sufficient enough amount of time to clear things out you might just have to take a guess and say that it belongs to the bubbly redhead who handled her liquor better then you. If that had been the extent to which I found myself waking up at approximately three in the morning the following night, I might have laughed it off and shaken the dust from my bones and moved on to the next day without much else of a thought. But for my late night wakeup call, my scene had been a gutter on the side of the road where my ears were ringing heavily and my senses were shot but I could still make out enough to tell that a torrential downpour was hitting me.

_Out of the night that covers me,_  
_Black as the pit from pole to pole,_  
_I thank whatever gods may be_  
_For my unconquerable soul._

_In the fell clutch of circumstance_  
_I have not winced nor cried aloud._  
_Under the bludgeonings of chance_  
_My head is bloody, but unbowed._

_Beyond this place of wrath and tears_  
_Looms but the Horror of the shade,_  
_And yet the menace of the years_  
_Finds, and shall find me, unafraid._

_It matters not how strait the gate,_  
_How charged with punishments the scroll,_  
_I am the master of my fate:_  
_I am the captain of my soul..._

On all fours, feeling as if I was a child learning how to walk for the first time all over again, it was a poem that I couldn't shake the feeling I had heard countless times before in a different setting and a different time as I centered myself on my own two feet. Shaking my head just before I craned it as far as I could in both directions, a loud procession of cracking noises followed as I did so, my eyes were burning at the sight of a single streetlight to my left and my vision was wavy and it was hard to focus on anything for any prolonged amount of time. Was this nothing more then a drunken stupor wearing off in the wee hours of the night? As much as it was the easiest option to coax my mind into a sense of security, the truth of the matter was that I hadn't drank that much, and to make matters even more perplexing even with my impaired vision I could recognize where I was. It was a mall back alley between the intersection of seventy-eight and fifty-second street, and about five blocks in front of me was the dimly lit Schrodinger's Café, an open sign only illuminated partially in an aura of glorious mediocrity. I was back in Gotham, hundreds and hundreds of miles from the last place I had remembered last, and to my own credit this hadn't been the first time something like this had happened to me. Throughout my childhood there were times where I would either be told to go get something or I would be doing something on my own and I would suddenly forget the whole reason I was doing it in the first place, being left completely disoriented. Further tests and study revealed little that could be deemed conclusive, and I was let go and told that I was simply forgetful as some kids are, but as I got older it seemed to happen more sporadically but less often. They told me a few years later that it had been tied to some kind of coping mechanism that my mind had established all on its own to deal with stressful situations, and that I was literally making myself forget the things that I had deemed too painful. In my words at age sixteen, I had a mental subscription to Netflix and I wasn't interested in the drama section.

"...having a rough night, handsome?" A feminine voice called out in my direction, my neck would regret my inherent decision to turn to face my addresser as soon as I did, but as I did I saw before me the same distinct and makeup lavished face that had treated my leg a short time ago. Only this time, her getup had changed drastically for the way of tradition, a periwinkle fabric kimono with a red sash and other small portions of blue and red across the chest being displayed through the streaks of light shining through the otherwise dark alley. Her face paint, or perhaps she saw it as a symbol like war paint, still was that same white base with the illustrious floral patterns flowing from the eyes and making her otherwise conservative look clash against more then just her personality.

"Did you have something to do with this? You do know that if you wanted a second date all you needed to do was gimme a call, right? Well, either that or string me upside down from a lamppost again." I jested with baited breathe, my body still acclimating.

"Pssht, little old me? Why, my hands are all tied up over here, and besides, if you're taking road trips I don't exactly have the time to wait on you all night long. A girl's got to keep yourself busy, you know, at least until you show yourself." She mused as she pretended to subdue her own hands within the various folds of her kimonos sleeves, a devious smile showcasing a dazzling set of pearly white teeth in contrast to a now slightly more charismatic blackened red lipstick.

"How did you know it was me?" I inquired, all of this time while we chattered I had failed to make the connection that while she was addressing me as she did before, I was completely out of costume and my face was entirely out in the open.

"Didn't you ever learn about suffrage? Prohibition? A girl can have brains and a body, you know, and besides...like I said before i'm not making house calls because I think you're a smooth sailor. I like you...just...the way you are. And don't worry Brian, your secret...is all mine for the keeping." Once again she was inching closer to me and further into the light, after the last short and puzzling bout left me with a maul marks this time I was intent on taking a better stance and going on the defensive.

"Okay...then how did you know my name?" I reasoned, now even more on guard.

"I'm magical...and I also might have snatched your wallet and took a quick peak through it." Girlish laughter filled the concrete crevice of which our conversation took place, my wallet then resurfacing from the depths of on of her kimonos folds, my right hand swooped in and snatched it back from her with lightening reflexes. "Awe, you're no fun, but with as much money as you have in there I guess I wouldn't want to share either. You know, my offer still stands, by the way..."

"i'm not deaf, you know. It wasn't that long ago..." I corrected, as she took little notice and continued to slyly fork her tongue

"Well, maybe persistence is a key to a door worth opening, from one person who looks like they're wearing pajamas to the other. I just don't want you to lose..."

"I wont!" My voice was starting to raise into an angered huff.

"I never said what you were going to lose..." There was a momentary glance cast my way when she said that which had been different then the rest, of concern more then anything else as her wry smirk faded and she was just looking at me like I was being sent off to war and I might not come back. She was inching ever closer to me in the dimly lit confines of our own personal space in the comfort of the nights abandonment of all social aspects, her being itself was exuding a sort of fresh scent like lilacs freshly plucked from the garden while her breathe gave off this scent of lavender potpourri. It was all just so alluring that my feet wanting to give way at first but I had enough constitution in me to keep my footing for the time being, I stared her down but as she grew within inches of my face I could see and feel her doing much of the same thing to me, although with her own wildcard nature it was impossible to judge her endgame in all of this. One last warm breeze carried by way of her breathing and I felt her come the rest of the way and meet me as our lips cascaded against one another in a symphony of organic diplomacy, it was all happening so quickly that I honestly couldn't make heads or tails of any of it and merely signed off on context. My body played along, and maybe it was just out of myself being clueless and longing in curiosity to find out where this train of action would lead me, or maybe it was this lingering sense of perfection that was coming from all sides as I began to kiss her back for myself. There's a way in which men tend to kiss in error, and for the most part in tends to happen when we are either helpless or hopeless, whether we have just never kissed someone and haven't found out their rhythm or if we just simply haven't ever kissed at all. To me, my first bout was a soft fumbling around of my lips against hers of which I could sense she was picking up on rather well, causing her to slow down until I had adjusted and she had even taken my hands in hers as she could feel even with her eyes closed that they had been waiting at attention in midair. Now that the basics had been dealt with, my own lust for continuing had me plunging deeper and deeper into every kiss and I soon was the one with the upper hand as I pushed her against the adjacent wall, her neck just to the right of me I bit down out of instinct...or maybe in some small part it was lustful payback.

Like two rabid animals we kept going with an immense taste for the other, myself choosing to lay claim to the right side of her neck while she did the best that she could with the left side of mine, a procession of moans being called out of the two of us without any care for the people who may or may not hear us. It had taken a few moments until I noticed it, but when I opened my eyes I had lay witness to my own hands having been placed on the sash of her kimono that had been all that stood between her and complete nakedness, and with about as much ease as untying a pair of shoes the flaps of her colorful garment went to either side as her breasts became partially exposed. Her body stood before me like a canvas that had been lovingly sculpted and painted to ones own delight, a mixture of tattoos sprawling all over her waist and up her right breast, all done in a sort of minimalistic way that was classy but still a tad bit dark in tone. Knowing that she was technically falling behind, a devious expression wore across her face and she dug her cold hands into the inside of my shirt, (which surprisingly had been more of a turn on then I had anticipated) and sank her teeth into my neck as hard as she could and striking a vein. There was pain to be had in the endeavor, and in some depths of my absent mind I had longed to stop her, but the pleasure that followed made quick work of that and the easiest thing I could do was watch her work without any interruption. She slid off her kimono and tossed it over to the side, just as easily she did the same to my shirt, and in my own frenzy of excitement and anticipation I did the same with my pants and underwear as I toppled her over and the motions of unbridled ecstasy overtook us. All there was in that moment was the sounds of the alley and the moans of our pleasure as the seemed to come together in a sense of rhythm, we were almost one in that place in time as we just kept going and as far as we cared we just wanted to see how long we could go for.

"Shouldn't...we technically...like not be doing this in a fucking alley." I questioned with a lingering fragment of sensibility.

"Shh...you really...need to learn...when to shut up..." She managed to make out as she placed a finger over my lips to prevent further interruptions, although I wouldn't have had any desire to make any.

"You're fucking crazy..." I said with a gasping breathe willing me to do so.

"Thank you..." She retorted in reply, just as seductive as she ever was.


	28. The Masquerade

The first glimpses of dawn were upon us soon enough and despite my own status of sleepwalking through the last day of my life, and more importantly the last year of it to some extent, I felt like the lump some of my choices had been of some value. There was this feeling of release in the wake of my rendezvous with this vixen of the night that had made me feel alive again, and in so many ways just the sensation of changing my voice to suit the persona that had accompanied that cloak and mask proved empowering to me beyond the scope of written words. My meaning behind leaving Gotham had been to find answers and give myself a better life which had not been so weighed down by regret, and while the foundation of that promise fell through the night and early morning I had spent after my mental block more then justified my own hopes in the long run. How many may just have felt opposed to my lack of vision or my own failure to fear the inevitability of hindsight, but at this point there was this disconnect that was coursing through me at a very visceral level, and with it came the knowledge that even I hadn't known who I was becoming. All that my heart could think, and the extent to which my own ambitions and emotions had pulled me forth from the shadowy depths of one mans own inebriated lowliness, was being brought out to the forefront of the everyday. Not much of what I did now made much sense, but it was enjoyable, and the ephemeral negligence that persevered through my own memory was enough for me.

My source of companionship had left me in much the same gust of wind as she had came in on, saying little to me but baring her teeth all the same as she giggled all the way back into the light of the new day as it approached in full tilt, and with the absence having presented itself i too made myself scarce. Leaving the alley and returning back into the world as the rest of us knew it, my attention shifted to the fact that my backpack had been slightly torn on the left strap, a modification of which hadn't been there before to the best of my knowledge. There were still two days left ahead of me before i was to return to work and face the realization that people would ask about my progress after the passion I had exhibited regarding my little excursion into the midst for second chances, and given my own bluntness in my repertoire there was an expectation that I might just tell the truth. But none the less, here it was as my youthful exterior roamed the streets once more that the avenues and boulevards called to me for something grander in scale then what would usually occupy my nights. Eight o'clock rolled around and my feet stumbled into the front door of the apartment, at this point it almost seemed as if a revolving door would be oddly appropriate, the place was dead quiet as a small post-it note and an audacious looking invitation lie on the counter waiting for my eyes only.

_"Hey Brian, don't know why the hell you would even be up at this hour, but stay safe man. I'll be working late...and plus I've been invited out to some ritzy socialite shindig at the Gatsby tonight. Wish me luck!"_

The Gatsby had been on the most premier convention centers in all of the western hemisphere, not to mention the little piece of information that holding an event there had cost nearly as much as putting up with ones own home mortgage. Oddly enough it lived up to the pompous and overindulgent nature surrounding its namesake and held functions all throughout the year, commonly frequented by such prominent figures of Gotham as oil tycoons and mafia faithful alike, but the idea that Michael would have been given a pass to such an occasion was partially beyond belief. Part of me worried about the long hours and busy schedule that he had supposedly been exposed to in my leaving the past year, and as much as i was refusing to stake any faith in the claim there was a suspicion that he was back to his old ways and helping the Falcone family again. Never had he cared much for luxury in life, and to make a statement against it he retained his own one bedroom apartment in a lower middle class neighborhood, but I've noticed a lot of things had been either replaced or remodeled since and that coupled with the liquor cabinet holding nearly four hundred dollars in alcohol had been troubling me. Taking the small pamphlet into my hands for further inspection, there had seemed to be something amiss with the whole thing, the first of which had been the cheapened feel of the paper and the nearly illegible writing throughout the events description. The well-off or well spoken for wouldn't need to read the specifics on the festivities, they would just need to know that they would be lounging in a lavish ballroom and treated to an open bar and a fair share of tasteful music. If there was something going on, I felt that it wouldn't be something i could so easily put out of my mind, it was clear that my night was going to be spent crashing a party but given the dress code of "suit and coat, tie optional" i figured i was about to become a stowaway.

The form had said the party was going to start at roughly ten o'clock, so my best bet had been to arrive just shortly after it had started, the bouncers and guests distracted by their own agenda I would be able to sneak in completely unattended. The only real question was how, and for that I remembered that the convention center itself had been retrofitted to the peak of style and comfort, with several balconies extended out from the walls of the more costly rooms and floors for the people who desired a view from above. It wasn't much to go on, but it had been my prior skill to grapple and climb on most surfaces due to five years being trained in rock climbing and gymnastics, it wasn't anywhere near the same thing and the consequences were hideous but there was little else to do. My footing would have to be near immaculate, and the small gaps between sections of brick and mortar going up the structure wasn't going to give me much leverage, but with a running start I made my first stab into what was almost certainly going to be regretted. Launching myself a foot off the ground I landed, or more or less smashed my face into the cold, hard surface and held onto what little there was with all of my strength. At this particular moment I gained a better appreciation for my high school gym teacher, my legs were holding steady but my arms were shaky and buckling within minutes, a few yards at a time I took the distance in stride as the air in my lungs began to feel heavier by the second. It wasn't long before I could see it before me as it lie within arms reach, but my grip was degrading and if i didn't act quickly i would most likely end up flattening a party goer below, my mind raced and my body began to swing in an attempt to leave my position and fly high enough to reach the platform. One. Two. Three. _Come on, Brian, I know you haven't been doing much lately and your torso is mostly Twinkies but you have to have some grace._ One last deep breath filled my diaphragm and I found my entire body lifted another few feet, and with my right hand reaching all the while i felt my palm firmly planting itself onto a rung of the terrace railing.

A stinging pain shot through my arm as a popping sound preceded its arrival, there wasn't much of a way to know what my brilliant scheme managed to pull but all I knew is that it was limiting my mobility and it wasn't going to look pretty in the morning. Gritting my teeth, I pulled myself up the rest of the way and got a better footing as my form now hugged the bannister, then I not so elegantly crawled over the concrete veranda and allowed my pulse drop back down to a more acceptable rhythm. Picking up my pace and trying to regain my more intimidating stance, I dusted myself off and dropped back out of sight against the small piece of wall between the balcony and the entranceway back into the convention center, curiosity getting the best of me I peered in to further examine what I was up against. The place was in perfect form and the ballroom which lay before my eyes was packed to the brim with people in the finest suits, their faces obstructed my sequenced masks, some more plain but others rather daringly bold whether it be bright colors or gaudy feathers. Don't get me wrong, as much as I knew the people in there to be marginally selfish and obtuse, the party as a whole was one to die for. A smooth jazz number was blaring from a small ensemble band in a simple set of black, white, and grey suits: one was of brutish stature and patiently strummed a deep bass guitar, the second was of a medium build and was preoccupied with his soulful solo on the saxophone, the last of their company was almost sickly gangly and hummed along in synchronization while he played the piano. I could see one of the guests ducking out of the mess of high-priced shoes and stylish cabaret in hopes to reach my position, looking over to my left I saw that there was just enough space for me to shimmy over and stand safely onto the lip of the building, and so I did. As he reached the terrace he removed in mask in a steady sigh and set it down beside him, his aged face now in view there was no mistaking the man that I saw, as no one in Gotham would be unable to place the face of the hero of the little man and the scourge of the criminal element. It was none other than James Gordon.

"Enjoying the night sky, commissioner?" I asked as he continued to blankly stare up at the moonlight, my abrupt comment startling him as he turned around in a mad frenzy to catch a glimpse of who was addressing him, eyes focusing on my meager costume and obviously casting a fair amount of judgment of his own.

"Just getting some fresh air, it's hard being with those people sometimes, you know you're rich when your worst fear is running out of caviar or your yacht not being big enough. What about you?" He inquired, obviously taking note of my position as I was crouched over the balcony railing with my arms folded over one another.

"Just taking in the scenery, I love a good party, it's just so hard to find one that has the right flavor of negligence and tax evasion." I jested.

"And the cape is just for the fun of it, right?" He was taking a quick jab at the costume, but all I could think was whether or not telling him my true purpose was wise, police were more corrupt then ever no matter his reputation.

"I have reason to believe that there is fowl play afoot, and this entire party is a front. The invitation, it's garbled and half-hazardly put together, and the names of the individuals briefly mentioned who are supposedly funding this event...I don't think they are legitimate." I confessed, his eyes becoming fixed on what I was saying and the smirk from before fading.

"A city like this, people who have the money to throw something like this together, they aren't going to stay unnoticed for long. What's your thinking?" Gordon motioned.

"Well, right now we have the richest people in all of Gotham, as well as some of the most well regarded Mafioso's and informants all playing nice and being friends. How nice of a bargaining chip is that? And besides, having no plan hasn't stopped people before, has it?" I was suggesting a name that I knew might not be pleasant to bring to the surface, and his face went emotionally dim for a moment as he realized that my manner of thinking wasn't without merit.

"I'm not a part of the force anymore, if you want my help in this, you're going to need to give me a little bit more direction then that. We don't know who, if anyone at all, is being targeted or putting it there." James explained competently, sound reason lent itself well for police work, and surely contributed to his successful career.

"Well, seeing as i'm a bit underdressed and would stand out like a whore in a monastery, go back inside and be my eyes on the inside. If nothing happens, we both leave here knowing that these people are safe. And if not, then we do what we can. You can use this..." I answered his worries, as I pulled a pair of black matt finish walkie-talkies from within my cloak.

"Are we also going to use a few cups connected by a string?" He mused, obviously doubtful.

"Patience, commissioner." It wasn't much, but for now he knew that I was at least taking the situation seriously, and so was he.


	29. Friends of the Fortunate

Gordon eased himself through the throng of self-indulgent and sybaritic nobles and debutantes, sifting his body back and forth in the midst of the music as it came in low and swept nearly everyone off of their feet as they were helpless to refuse the chance to dance in tune, there had to be something that he could point out to give away the lingering uneasiness in his chest. The thin veneer that concealed their faces made the lot of them just meld in unison, and even all of his experience and tact did little to help the situation, to him they were swaying to the rhythm of the night as it wore on to it's last moments in the dark moonlit night: they were ghouls unbeknownst to the worries and likes of the mortal man which lived beside them in tandem. But as harrowing of a feeling as the music made him envision, James could look all about the room and see nothing more then the widest of smiles of everyone's faces, it was if they were walking into the great beyond and they were willingly crying tears of joy in commencement of the occasion. One couplet among the rest seemed to stick out to him, a pair consisting of a twenty something man and a teenage girl who clumsily matched steps with the rest as best they could, each time they would accidentally crush the others toes a coy smile and a faint apology would be all that was needed. They just went on until the oblivion of the unknown tomorrow, with their eyes locked on one another and the auras they exuded were so bright and colorful that you couldn't help but shed a tear for the shear adorability. Just a few feet over a woman swayed by her lonesome, her small infant child her sole company, she did her damnedest to teach her daughter the way but she was a slow starter to say the least. It all just brought back memories James had etched into a coffin and hoped to leave buried six feet under his own guilt, his own family had graced his minds eye at some point each and every day, but here he saw a glimpse of something that didn't make him fight tears for the sake of sorrow...but for joyful exuberance in the fact that even without him there they were happy.

_"Isn't this music just simply to die for."_

_"I'm more worried about just making sure im not stepping on your feet."_

_"Excuse me, everyone, if I could have your attention please. My brothers...and I have just...one more song for you all, I must say i'm proud of the life we have in the room right now. So just sit back and dance if you feel up for it, and lets see if we can get a little bit more oomph in those steps, lets...dance like there isn't a tomorrow."_

"Gordon, Gordon, come in. I repeat, do you see anything out of the ordinary?" A rough voice belonging to his cloaked accomplice called out to him from his hip, where his walkie-talkie was proudly tucked away to avoid unwanted attention.

"No...not exactly. But the night's winding down, I think we can just call this one off. Although, I think you should slink in here and get a look for yourself, it's starting to warm up in here." He admitted as he reached to wipe of sweat away from his brow with his right hand.

**(Outside of the convention center)**

At the very mention of things heating up, my left knuckle began to twitch in anticipation, and to my own discredit it might not be entirely healthy the appetite for excitment I had developed in the last week. With so much encircling the brief existance outside of hospital halls and sterile socialization, there was this innate sense of boredom surrounding the life held outside of this cloak, with each escapade into the momentistically unrealistic the only hope was that my days fighting didnt need to end. The thing is though, i'm not entirely sure if even I was resolute in my resolve towards to picking up the slack on behalf of the police department and a citizenship too scared of being a beacon for change, the last man to hold a similar idiology found himself framed a murderer and shunned from his home. He commanded army grade weaponry and body armor that could be his salvation against firearms and close range encounters, and I peraded around in a cheap halloween costume that no one noticed was missing in the thick of things at a tough time, how was I any better? But then again i thought, as i steathily entered through the balcony and ducked behind a small tray table holding ample amounts of preserves which felt so glorious as they went down my throat, i didnt have any obligation to immitate the bat...and perhaps if i couldnt be as good as him i could instead be worse. There was this last hurray of ambitious momentum beyond the musical accompaniment as they let out one last frenzy of strumming and deeply satisfying notes as the crowd quieted themselves down, I rounded a corner as they did such and snuggly hid myself behind a support beam halfway between my original position and the frenzy. It was then in which I noticed something a bit out of the usual, the ventilation system was beeping and beginning what sounded like a release cycle, and a deep green fog was being bellowed out from within and descending upon all of us.

"What the hell..." I thought to myself, but also aloud as the urgency in the room now was rising within seconds. "Gordon, look upwards, ventilation shaft, now."

But Gordon hadn't seen, and the obscene mist soon outstretch across most of the room, taking everyone off guard as I scrambled to get a word back in response from James only to realize that my walkie had finally leeched the last of its power. The batteries had only been at half when they were last used, however considering the amount of time that had passed since then gave me the belief that they were on their way out from old age if not lack of luster, and now the masses scrambled in confusion towards the main staircase on the opposite end of the banquet hall. A load precession of gunfire followed as they tried to make it towards what they knew to be safety, some had managed to brave the danger and flooded the steps but the brunt of the crowd submitted to their fear and retreated back towards me, the three men who before had been so solemnly entertaining them now had a meager armament trained on them. Something that hadn't caught my attention before, mostly for the sake of my vision failing me from both the balcony and behind an horderves table, but the trio had stood out from the rest with a set of immaculately hand painted masks covering their entire faces. Anywhere else and they would have been gawked at from here to kingdom come, but here in the swarm of leeches they were making prey out of the purely parasitic, and now they had all of the leverage to make this end in a bloodbath of carnage or a mere heated standoff. In the commotion it was my only chance to get out of the fray and investigate the substance that had been flowing from the vents, and seeing as it hadn't effected anyone just yet there would be time enough to poke further into the issue, and hopefully find some answers before anyone gets themselves killed. It wasn't easy, but in an awkwardly placed crouch I sleekly evade the sights of the doom and gloom crew and found my way into the halls, a small staircase leading upstairs lay before me and I entrusted the future of everyone in the Gatsby to the hunch that the system for the ventilation would soon follow. Just as my prior expectations had me imagine, the door I sought was to the top of those stairs and the third door on the right, a gargantuan and towering apparatus of stainless steel stood to greet me. A small electronic console was attached on the lower left hand side of the machine, and through a few self explanatory swipes with my gloved pointer finger I was at a loss for words, a tiny indicator box was on the screen for adding cleaning agents to the machine but according to the device nothing had been added.

"I don't get it...then what the hell are they doing?" I inquired to the air around me, a small window overlooked the hall where the guests now remained as they were, surrounded and frightened and looking as if they were herded to their doom like cattle. A loud bang echoed as the fireworks come in on high, and a scenario I was becoming all too familiar with began in front of me once more.

"Now, now, people. There is nothing to fear...but fear itself, aint it true!?" The tallest and skinniest of the three spoke up through his mask and into the microphone on stage, an unsavory and painfully detached gratification coming from each syllable, there was this cheap and pansy English aftertaste to his speech but part of me was doubting the validity of it. "Here is the last part to our act, as each one of you are going to take part in a social experiment, that beautiful green gas you've been breathing in is a oh so special concoction we've been working on. And in about five minutes, you're all going to be dead regardless, but i'm not a monster...I do have some humility. In this duffel bag I have here five guns, pass 'em around folks! If you can manage to take care of the rest of you, the very...last...person...standing will receive the antidote. Well...have at it, loves!"

The same instant that that duffel bag hit the floor, nearly a hundred able bodied and horrified people came running at it like a shark to blood in water, and soon a dog pile was forming and from my own vantage point my detective fellow was nowhere to be seen. My headway was clear as I bolted out of the room and down the stairway, at the base of the staircase two men approached me, one being the man of the hour who had been aiding the other as he was leaning the entirety of his weight against the former commissioner. As far as people go, he had taken what looks to be a bullet to the knee and yet still was accepting Gordon's help somewhat begrudgingly, and for that my sincerest condolences were in order as he was seeming to exhibit behavior that hadn't matched his Versace suit and well groomed head of hair that just screamed trust fund.

"Who's the war hero?" I asked as he set the man down against the wall and tried as best he could to arch his leg up with enough elevation to stop the bleeding.

"This...is Bruce Wayne, he took a slug to the knee trying to make a break for it and get help, got pretty far if you ask me." James informed, most of that had been either already obvious to me or something I inferred, although his identity was not one of them. To me Bruce Wayne was an alias the whole city knew, but there was a select few who were without enough interest in the media to learn his face.

"I'm going in there, that place is going to turn into one hell of a cleanup job if I don't, stay with him." I said harshly as I started forward and tried my hardest not to stop when I heard the endless objections that I had only known were coming at that point.

"Wait! What the hell are you thinking! They have guns, they'll see you as soon as you walk in the room!" He lectured at the back of my head, but I would not delay, people needed me now more then ever before had anyone needed me in my entire life.

As I walked back into the hall I noticed a small lining of symmetrically aligned support beams leading all the way to my targets, and once more my brain went into overdrive and the statistical odds were being tallied in my head, there wouldn't be any room for second chances. A few quick leaps and my shaken body rested for the moment behind the first of three beams, two more rounds went off and now half of the people in attendance had now joined the stars in the sky above, their bodies but hollow shells remaining to tell the tale of their own demise as a single tear trailed down my face. The horror of the sequence was staring me straight in the face as my next move was made, one more leapfrog-esque jump and narrowly the likes of my prey were inching ever closer, hands were shaking uncontrollably at this point but as my eyes closed to grasp a fraction of clarity a single line of narrative began to repeat in my mind. _Once more unto the breach my friends._ The words were not of my own well versed prose but of another who had come and gone long before me, a one William Shakespeare as soldiers once again found themselves the inescapable hell of war, and just like them here my place was established...a small blunt instrument that had been sat against the support now was firmly grasped in my hands. Five steps stand in the way of any decision you feel you are not strong enough to make, you first question the likelihood of your survival before secondly doubting your ability to succeed in place of the risks, and then you begin to back up in defeat just before recoiling in a self determination that you just cant place.

It is then, ladies and gentlemen, the moment in which the fifth step quickly follows, and all you have to do to is let go. A running start was needed, I only had a good six to ten feet but it was enough to launch myself into the air, lobbing my blunt miscellaneous tool at the medium size thugs head and sending him flying off the platform. The next order of business required far more precision and well structured timing, my body went into a full roll a fraction of a second before they could fully react to my initial assault, one well placed hand underneath his right hand which was trying to draw a pistol on me but my palm putting his wrist into a vice grip placed me in control. With his hand at my disposal I took advantage of his firearm and shot it off and sent about an inch of steel into his foot, blood spurting everywhere and his face turning to a wince as I struck him across the face with first my elbow, and then finishing him off with a right hook to the left eye that sent him off the stage to follow suit. Turning to my right I saw the last of the lot, the largest and the toughest if by appearance alone, his drew a rusty kitchen knife from a small pouch or satchel that he had been throwing over his shoulder. Brutish in tactics as much as his form, he mindlessly lunged forward and tried to do me in with a downward strike, but instead we both found each other in a harsh stalemate with our arms pushing against on another. For a short while I was getting the upper hand but it seemed as if he was just warming up, a deeply masculine chuckle could be heard from behind the mask as he upped the ante and pushed back against me with full force, my luck apparently running out until one last pop of a round fired off and landed right between both of his eyes. His hulking stature fell just a foot short of me, and with him the room fell deadly silent, although as I swiveled my torso to the side to catch of the glimpse of the final status, and Gordon and I were the only ones left.

"Phew...thanks for that...I owe you one." I mused in a huff to Gordon.


	30. And All Was Silent

The night was cold and long and gestated in such a way that the morose numbness in the air managed to recess ever deeper unto the both of us, and so much more was calling to be answered for as the scars of tonight's penultimate gallery of iron soaked fixtures remain as the scar to heal overtop the wound. In the most likely of circumstances it wouldn't last forevermore, and to the more logistically sound they knew that within no time at all they would be christening the harrowed halls anew with another romp. Just cover the memories with enough vodka or finely aged wine and soon enough you can pretend that you never had to live in the world of the constant loss and nearly schizophrenic tendency of the wheels of fate and fortune. Gordon assured me that he would be looking into the matters regarding the attacks in greater detail, citing that he still had some dear friends on the force who would listen to enough reason to conduct a few discreet background searches. He slid a small business card to me with some basic contact information listed on the front, nothing extensive but a work and cellphone number, but it was a nice start to have someone actually taking an initiative and having some help in my late night endeavors besides a sexual deviant and seemingly ruthless nymphomaniac. It'd mean me having to buy a burner phone at some point the next day or so, but they were cheap and a dime a dozen by their namesake alone, and besides I hadn't been burdened by scheduling conflicts either. He had said that he would be trying to find anything that was out of the ordinary and relay the information to me as best he could, to him it had seemed as if we were already partners trying to breathe life back into this city, but in my heart it was far more likely that his sunken eyes were just begging for someone to care as much as he had. My intentions weren't to betray that trust, and as much as I could I hoped that I wouldn't end up wasting his time in the end. In large part, it seemed as if the thoughts and words coming out of my mind and mouth were of another man's prerogative, for as much as the moral values I had clung to told me to quit while I was ahead my own rejuvenated confidence was telling me that this was the only way. This felt right to me, and in that costume, i felt one with my actions. In those moments, I was something stronger then anything I had hoped for myself and it had come out of pure insecurity, I was invincible.

No one spoke for the longest time, not when the sirens closed in around us and the last hurrah of the Gotham Police Department had their guns following our every move, not when the hundreds of questions we didn't have the faintest clue of how to answer came out with a mob of press locked onto the likes of myself and the commissioner: and the silence was deadening. For the most part, my part was kept to a minimum and my esteemed helper with the registered firearm took the spotlight as a hero and my face was obscured to half blurred images taken just as I was ducking out of frame and out of the sights of the officers who weren't in any mood for games. In yet another dark crevice of the city my disguise left me, and with it all of the care I had been taking not to completely break down in regards to what just happened some hours ago, and worst of all I still had no idea if Michael was even alright after that abomination. Tears came down hard and my voice was shakily deteriorating into a irregular set of circular blubbering that my best guesses had made me look as ugly as the scene I witnessed, the blood that layered the fixtures and the floors and the bodies, there had been a smudge of it on both of my palms and no matter how hard I scrubbed I couldn't make it go away. Muffling the echoes of my sorrow as it tore away into the audible vacancy of the night, my backpack became pressed against my face with enough force to produce an ample amount of suction, my sanity was being tested here as the voices came back again and this time I didn't think that I could make them yield. Behind their arrival was an onset static that was like a mutual bastardization of a poor television signal and a deep ringing in my ears, both hands covering them and yet the volume merely seemed to skyrocket into a deafening yelp of panic and error.

_You really did try your best, it just wasn't enough, kid..._

_Its not your fault...its not your fault...its not your fault...its not your fault_

_You said you would save the ones you love...but I don't think you know what love is..._

_Do you see them all...it's because of you...you couldn't save them...what do you think you're doing_

_you're going to get yourself killed...just...like...your...father_

There wasn't any avoiding it at this point, but if my state of unconquerable delusion and mentally cracking at the most fundamental of levels, the choice had been presented to me to either let the sadness or the psychosis take its hold on me. My breathing became a bit more difficult by this point, my nose was getting stuffy and my best release had been right then and there as I allowed myself to react to everything I had seen, and to be fair the possibility had been on hand that this was also the first time I had for as long as I could remember. Hands trembled, my stomach ached, my eyes shut tightly for a moment to attempt to just refute the reality that was surrounding me but it was of little use, one last mental image of the crimson liquid and my stomachs durability was cashed in as the taste of my gastrointestinal tract came drumming up my esophagus. That dull burn was something of which I could so rarely misplace from my memory, and as my disheveled clothes and ashen complexion were about to be my first impression for a passerby that had been calling to me all the while I had been occupied with my own concerns. Most definitely not the vantage point from which to explain yourself, not that I was particularly in the mood to do anything of the sort, and not to mention my own first judgment would be based on the tan pair of sandals they had been wearing seeing as my perspective placed me going from the feet up. A long and flowing mane of reddish auburn swayed in the breeze as a sweet sight for the pair of eyes which now were submerging in the unsavory liquid of melancholy and missed opportunities, she looked at me with the sweetest smile and began to speak as if she was the key to finding the last ray of sunlight still lingering in the darkness long after its due. She extended her arm towards me in a gesture of good faith and will and I grasped it longingly, it looking very much to me as most people might ravenously clutch a life raft after the doldrums of being lost to the sea.

"Is...everything alright? Wait, don't I know you from somewhere? Wait, no, oh my god is that you, Brian?" She addressed me as commonly as one would call their child in from a long day of playing outside, or perhaps a long lost lover who had found themselves adrift in the dense vibrancy of life, only to cling to the thought of the embrace that would come next she see the person. It was in that exact moment that I realized myself that while she might have known me from some other function of my past, my own sense of familiarity was far more distinct, and as my eyes hovered over her own and a cheeky smile was contained between the both of us, it was known to me that she had been the one I saved not that long ago. Her eyes had been kissed by the sun, and her complexion had darkened ever so slightly since then, but it would be foolish of me to remember the face of someone who I had helped. A name escaped me at the moment, and my lack of vision was making me look like a cat had stolen away my tongue and done away with the luxury of a gilded word or a devilishly textile vernacular, she was staying with me in each moment partially hoping to get a response out of me but there was also a deeper probe. She was either searching for something within me that hadn't shown itself at first glance, or she found something of her own embedded at the half mast of my emotional safeguards, and for the time being this was a point where she felt that it was not of her nature to abandon me. "We went to high school together, you dumbass, it's me...Penelope."

"That was a long time ago..." My voice was unwavering and nearly indistinguishable from the static of before, but she accepted my limited response and grabbed ahold of both hands and pulled me back up to my feet, wiping the moist discharge from my eyes one last time my sorrow was slowly subsiding.

"Where the hell have you been? I mean...you were always slacking off in Mrs. Simmons class but I didn't think I find you falling asleep in an alley." She confessed, but if she was saying those words in all seriousness, then had she somehow failed to hear or see the embarrassing display that had been put on? How on earth could she have not seen any of it? For the sake of time and just not using the energy to ask and induce a perilous gauntlet of questioning, I relented and started forward and back onto the streets, every few moments she would lightly tap my arm at the side with her finger to see if my attention had been where it should be. Negligence went to the air of conversation as we walked without any sense of direction or destination in mind, the night was young and we weren't far off from the same ourselves, and she had first tugged on me to motion towards a small dive bar that was a mile or so inward. In her own words, she had wished to know of the time between our graduation and the discovery of my current addendum of misfortune, and after my initial interjection telling her that it wasn't so simple to just adlib more then a year of ones life she mused that she had a monumental solution. We were led deeper into the night, the truth of the matter was that she took the reins but my own poetic side of me leaned towards the ruling that we each were being called there, could the pinnacle and chardonnay be summoning us to a means to escape in a glass picturing the very paradise we longed for? It was clear at this point as we entered the hazy and asphyxiating den of drunkards and duelists that she had been prattling this entire time, and my countenance had been as blank as the stares from some of the regulars, one last slug brushed my forearm with a bit more force and instantaneously my deliberation was brought to an abrupt end. "Hey, are you listening to me? It's like you're in a different world or something."

"I'm sorry...it's been a rough night, look this is going to sound pretty bad but...I don't think I remember you from high school. Like, at all." I Admittedly huffed with a small chuckle accompanying my remark. "You said that you knew me, remembered my name lightening fast, and now you have me at a dingy bar on Glenside avenue so...I don't get where the catch is coming in at but I know there's going to be one sooner or later."

"Biology class, first period, and maybe you don't remember me because you were too busy sleeping and making a puddle of drool on your desk each time you passed out on your way in. We'd through things at you, make comments to the teacher, hell we even dropped a book on you once and you still didn't wake up. It was pretty fun from my end at least, and I already told you, I want to know what you've been up to since I saw you more then a year ago. Isn't it awful? Having women take you out places and offer to show you a good time without expecting anything in return? I know, you should be calling the national guard." She was wearing the lines like a well rehearsed understudy, and as much as I had launched a protest against her supposedly modest intentions, I still was the one who agreed to go along with her plan in the first place. But why was that? Well, for the grand scheme of things, I wasn't really trying to go home and face the facts if they were to be as grim as my worst fears were...and for the most part the company was as truly appreciated as the winter air was cold. Rotating my arms around clockwise, and then counter-clockwise, my mind simply shrugged off my routine of over indulgence self-analysis and thought to myself just what else would I be doing with the rest of my night? She called to the barkeep who had acknowledged her by name and nodded towards her general direction, a few rounds of shots were laid down next to us at the bar of a variety of colors and scents that bombarded my system in the best way possible. It was all so foreign to me, as I had gotten well acquainted with certain alcohols but it wasn't to the extent that I was shopping around to have tasted them all, there were in total eight miniature glasses sitting before us and she equally distributed them to either side. "Okay, space cadet, so here's the dealio. We each take a drink, and then afterwards we each ask the other person a personal question, we start small and then by the time we cant walk straight we'll be completely honest with one another. Does that sound good to you?"

"Cheers." I sounded off as I arched the glass skyward before downing it in one go, the blue liquid present within tasting of a fruity nature but still having a strong sting afterword's, and not to mention a noticeable inclusion of what I could only guess was a hint of cinnamon in its aftertaste. With my wits still about me and having the full knowledge of the game's premise, my first instinct took hold as it seemed only appropriate that I start things off first. After all, if it was her game and she hold all of the weight in the way of changing things at the drop of a hat, it was best for me to play along and try to swing some leverage of my own to my side, and just like her my mind had some questions of its own. "Alright, so why did you take me out here? I mean, you said that it's for small talk but I honestly don't remember talking to you in class back then, so there has to be some other sort of motive here, right?"

"You really know how to kill a mood with questioning, don't you? Listen, so maybe I caught more then I led you to believe and I just chose to ignore what I heard, and maybe I also have been having a really shitty couple of weeks lately. But when I feel that way about life, sometimes the last thing you want...is to talk about it...sometimes all you could ask for is just to find someone who doesn't bring up those things and pretends like...like it never happened. You're in the middle of the something, i'm sorry, but you seemed like you deserved better...and maybe we all do." Her eyes were starting to water, but she still retained control over her tone and range, not the slightest tinge of emotional ware was interfering with her pace as she reached forward and caringly caressed my hand in hers. It wasn't overly romanticized or meaningful to me, but it was something warm and fuzzy and there was a glimmer of something in her eyes that told me that she just felt like needing to be there for someone, even if no one was there for whatever it was she had to deal with. Now that being said, my eyes had averted towards her midsection as she said so to further inspect the distended and firmly plump section that had screamed the obvious truths that I had already known, however given the reasons for such advantage I kept my mouth shut and prepared myself to feign surprise. "Why did you leave school? They...told me that you had enough credits already to graduate, but everyone could never figure out where you went. So there it is, Casanova, step up to the plate."

"Ever since I was little, and i'm talking like five years old little, I was always just...in love with getting to go to the movie theater. I mean, it didn't matter one way or another if the movie fucking sucked, just being there was magical to me. It was also one of the few things that I always got to do with my dad, he was always busy with work but when we made plans we'd go all out and it would be just...perfect. One day i asked my parents to take me out to see my favorite superhero movie, and I was so excited...and then halfway through three armed men stormed into the theater...and they thought that we had to set an example. They left no one alive...and I...I watched as they all...until it was just me. They thought the look on my face was enough to send their message. The whole part where I still was able to graduate...just good timing. You haven't touched your drinks...is there a reason?" My probe was concise and to the point, but at the same time I didn't want her to feel as if I was cornering her, and at this point my attention was being given to following the way her lips moved and every other facial tick she might exhibit that might give away some clue as to the rest of who she was. Besides being a woman at nineteen (or at least I had assumed that much) and pregnant.

"Yeah..." The air became thick and the tension between us could have just as easily been cut with a knife, at this point I down two more drinks in quick succession and got up out of my seat, the thought being that my actions had severed all chances of me getting to know her better and that the least I could do was leave her be. My gesture however, was swiftly met by a soft pair of hands grasping onto my wrist as tightly as she could muster, turning only my head around to see what it was that she wanted her eyes had turned to glass. "Why do you look at me like that?"

"Because when I am feeling down, the last thing that I want to see me and think that there's nothing more to me then my problem. And every now and then, you just have to know when someone doesn't want to talk, they don't want to talk, and all that matters is that you talk to someone...because you matter to someone. We all do. I just hope you don't forget that, I wouldn't want anyone thinking they weren't worth themselves." Just as she had comforted me, without evening broaching the topic or inquiring as to why I was upset, my words were meant as nothing more then a life raft to a woman sinking in a world she might not have felt she played a part in any longer.

"I want to tell you...I have no idea why...but I just don't want it like this." She reaffirmed to herself, but it was also meant as my answer as well as an aside of her own.

"Well...they normally don't like kissing on a first date, so I guess I'll just have to be in suspense." A wry smile, and a charming wink, and she weakly replied with one of her own. One large embrace, even though the awkwardness of us being not much more then strangers still persisted, the was a warmth that we both couldn't get enough of. And it hadn't even for a second mattered to me where it would take me, for while I had found myself passed out in gutters or having spontaneously imaginative sex in a dimly lit alley, there are times when all you need in life is someone to listen. A friend. Whether the day was to end in rain or shine, I walked back home staggering along as best I could, mentally hating how much of a lightweight I had become over the last year...and hoping the best for the next of my rouges gallery as she most likely had been busy doing the same. "Good night, Penelope."


	31. Joie de Vivre

Long nights walking the streets on the rebound from a spree of shenanigans were starting to take a toll on me, or so it had began to seem as the reflective mirrors of shop windows cast a ghoulish figure back at me instead of my own face, and it had been then where I came to terms with how little useful sleep I had gotten in the last couple weeks. Whether or not it was because of work or far too much to dwell on or simply taking the opportunities to make my nights worth living, few times had I actually felt that my rest was more important then the things I could do with just a few hours more of consciousness. Most of my life people had claimed that my existence was something that I could write a book about if the time were there, and if I had actually given myself enough patience to actually commit to something like that, and now I was adding to the adage that my life had become. But if it was all but a story, who exactly was the person reading in awe and hoping that the sterling knight saved the damsel and rode off into the sunset to fight another day? If you are out there, and my thoughts do one day end up becoming just as I had thought, then I hope that you have a better sense of wits about you then me. Although, if you're reading this far into the journey of my life, then you really don't seem too deterred by my acts of debauchery and probably have made some of the same mistakes as I have thus far. Just remember this much, whoever you are, I don't care how ugly you think you are or feel at times...the best things in life are always just beyond the horizon...and it's in our best interest to just spend our lives moving towards it. If you think that you are stuck in whatever it is you have found yourself wrapped up in, just keep in mind that you actually managed to be involved in something that people care about, your mind, body and soul all were enough for that much excitement...and they'll continue to be enough for so much more if you only allow yourself to. We're all human beings, and we're all beautifully ugly, it's just a matter of learning to understand the difference between making ugliness lovable and acting ugly towards love. My wayward soul was battered and bruised in more ways then one, but it kept onward for as long as it could, and now I was enough for the truth that awaited me when I made my way back up the apartment complex staircase. Just remember to take that first deep breath, and know that the future always looks ugly when you're so far away from it, just...move...a few steps closer...and tell me how it looks in the morning.

After my best impression of the most courteous burglar ever, my mostly silent approach back into the apartment had began on slow and labored breathing in my own sense of suspense, but it soon returned to normal and a soft chuckle came over my sigh of relief as I could hear someone moving and stirring in the guest bedroom. It had been my best guess that he had once again had too much to drink at the party and headed home shortly after, to unwittingly fall asleep in my bed and either didn't care much for the mistake or just shrugged it off and just stumbled into the first bed he could stagger to. At least, that was the theory that my mind put in as a placeholder without having approached the sound to investigate further, but as I was soon to be proven wrong in my own naivety as the floor creaking was soon coupled with the low hum of heavy groans. My face scrunched into a confused and slightly off-put grimace as I slowly made my way towards the guttural and animalistic sounds poorly executed passion and too much tequila, and sure enough to my own shock there he was sloppily laying about on the bed with a buxom blonde on top of him who appeared to be having far too much fun on the ride for the likes of my stomach. Listen, i'm not a prude and never would it ever be appropriate for me to interfere with the love life of my "well-intentioned" guardian, but there comes a time in every mans life where he realizes that as much as he has added to his own sheets...you don't just willingly allow people to make contributions to the same place you need to sleep every night. For a brief second my mischievously over indulgent mind imagined that a cold bucket of water would suffice and put an end to their sweaty romp between the sheets, but then again it wasn't a habit of mine to become a complete and total monster. For just a moment longer I crept ever the more closer to the scene, my arms folded into themselves as I slowly began to shake my head in comedic disapproval as they continued, which at this point was beginning to annoy me as my sheetz were inching closer and closer to the point where burning them was their only hope.

"I must've missed one hell of a party..." I admitted. My sentence trailed off into the vacancy of the room as they violently jerked upward at the sound and the realization that someone else was aware of their activities, the woman being so startled that she fell off of the bed and hitting the ground scrambling to find her clothes.

"I...I thought you said you lived alone? Oh...oh...oh my god, where the fuck is my bra." She stuttered as she had already managed to collect most of her things and was trying to decide whether to be angered by my existence or her vanished undergarment, which much to my enjoyment I had found laying atop one of the ceiling fan blades.

"And you said that you shaved down there, life's full of little disappointments, hun. I mean, I don't mind a little here and there, but it was like fucking a thorn bush. I might have grown up in the 70's but i'd like to not go to bed with the 70's, babe." He remarked, which was met with a sudden gasp from her followed by a swift smack across the face which made him rethink his choice words.

"Damn...I don't know which one of you it was...but that's incredible aim." I snorted in laughter as I set the bra loose with the flick of a switch, sending it off the ceiling fan and back to the disgruntled wearer who didn't even take the time to put it back on before storming out of the apartment, a few choices obscenities reserved for her partner of the night. "Well...it's nice to see you still haven't lost your touch with the ladies."

My business concluded, I left him with his compromised position and slightly rosy and stinging right cheek to mull over what had just happened, as much as my concern had prompted me to feel entirely furious with him the humor in the situation seemed to be enough to make us even. Besides, men are simple creatures and we often don't hold grudges as succinctly as women tend to, and when it comes down to the ones with which we hold the strongest bonds it's often times near impossible to stay mad at them for long. If it were me and the roles were reversed, likely enough the prospect of a nice face accompanying me to bed would have been more then ample conditioning to leave a fancy party, or at least that would have been my view on the matter some time ago. Morals and promised social etiquette were all well and good when they worked, but often enough people manipulated the rules, and in that vein the world had manipulated me enough that it wasn't easy for me to say one way or another what I would have done. As it has been said far too many times already, i'm sure, life was marching on without me everywhere my body would take me...and so far the façade of my birth name was doing little to give me reason to keep with it. There was no telling what lie ahead at the end of my life, nor at the end of the next month or even the next week to come, but all that my consciousness could tell me was that there was a purpose lying before me that my mind was failing to fully realize at the moment. Whether it be to clean up the streets or simply spend my nights on them whisking away my life on spirits and damsels in distress, it was a deep listlessness that made me feel no more then the sense that I was a man in transition, a lost vessel moving towards a fate that i had no control of...and when I get there I just hope that you can understand where I've come from. Michael had risen from bed in the middle of my deliberation, patting me on the back as he walked into the kitchen and into my frame of vision, where much to my dismay he had apparently decided that his thirst for a little morning accompaniment of vodka was greater then his need for any clothes.

"Hey man, I've been shopping around the "free" section on FredFinds, there are a few things that was be amazing for this project i'm working on...I mean just letting you know in case you'd like to tag along?" He propositioned as I shielded myself from the ungodly abomination of "please don't" that stood before me.

"No...no...i'm good, just...just an idea but maybe like...we could continue this conversation when you don't have your dick hanging out? I know, crazy thought." I criticized.

**(Dreveski Apartment Complex, upper east side of Gotham)**

While some had been tasked to capacity by their work or their own personal matters, such as this very young man in question, others had found their time better spent in reflection on the days of old and clinging on to a hope of perspective. This former commissioner was in his early fifties and he sat on a coffee colored couch that helped to subdue the feelings of various aches and pains that called to him the true nature of his ages toll taken upon his body, he clung to a wrinkled and severely weathered photograph. All the while longing to merely close his eyes to the past, and reopen them again to awaken to a future that remain unscathed by the past squabbles of yesteryear, he knew that he had two separate waypoints from which to move forward. And no matter what there wasn't any way to escape the fears of his own failure to choose, no third option to quell his indecisive nature and cater to his own worries of making the wrong choice, his day was completely open and the cumbersome cellphone he had clung to for so long now was staring him right in the face. Reaching out to hold it in his right hand, he dialed the number as if his fingers were stepping on a live minefield and a small picture greatly resembling the one he had been so lovingly clutching, with one middle aged woman and two small children no older then ten displayed in front of his eyes. The words were slow to come out at first as the first three rings sounded, followed by the recorded message which bore the voice of the love of his life which had now become such a stranger to him, and then that one last beep as the machine was now awaiting James to say his peace at his own leisure. This was the moment he had been waiting for, for all of the times that he had been flooded with regret, for every single time he could find his strength waning as the dial tone went one...but this time things would be different, and this time he had nothing left to loose.

"Hey, honey, listen I know...I know that I have tried to call you before...and I know that sometimes you might not have been home and others you just don't feel like talking to me. And that's fine. You see...I failed you, and the kids...I've failed all of you when it mattered most to you. My plan was always to be the one who did and said the right things, but I guess this place just makes monsters out of all of us...eventually. I'm so...so sorry, sorry that I ever took this city over you or the kids, because that should've never been a thought in my mind to choose anything over you. There's...a few more things that I need to do. And then i'm going to be coming out to see you, and i'll never come back to this goddamn city again. And if you can find that place in your heart, I hope that I can come home. I hope that we all...can come home, because as long as we're together then we'll always be home. I love you, Barbara, and I'll see you soon."

_(End of Act II...)_


	32. Survival

_(Millennial Sunrise Apartments, November 11th, fifteen minutes to midnight)_

Have you ever had the distinct impression that you were being watched, or better yet, that your every move was being recorded or followed in the darkest stretches of the night? You hear a slight creak in the floorboards of your home just as the rain begins to pick up outside, but still you pretend the there is nothing left to fear but fear itself, and you shrug off the sensation of dread that has already frozen you right where you stand. Just a menial pitter patter of condensation, nothing to be frightened by but a misplaced sound from the house or structure settling, surely you are simply too tired to properly judge one way or the other. But you are alone, and if nothing else that lonesomeness was enough to have you screaming for a place of sound sanctuary, or in the very least a token of company to share in your hardship. Blake Landis was an up-and-coming financier who had spent most of his life in the thick of armed robbery and the handling of marked bills, often times lurking within the massive grey area between smuggling for one or informing on the movements of the other. He was so especially well regarded for a wealth of odious skillsets, like how he could crack a safe within five minutes just short of it needing a retinal scanner, or even better yet how his morality was as crooked as his love for manipulation and control. The money was good and his employers gave him more than enough excitement to keep him coming back, aching and clamoring for another menagerie of heart pounding insanity as he skirted the line between what was a good time, and what was just him planning his own funeral without knowing it. Whenever it wasn't a fair shake at more capital then he could shake a stick at or turning the tables on some of the most powerful and resourceful people in all of Gotham, his pursuits were left entirely for the likes of the opposite sex. It was his secondary affliction that had a far darker and overjoyed sense of agency, you see he could have women flocking to him by the dozens but they were all cheap and he could guess their next move with his eyes closed, he wanted a fair challenge. In the depths of the forlorn stillness he felt it was to his benefit to invite someone over to alleviate the tension in the air, retrieving a pocket sized black journal from his nightstand he passively shuffled through the pages to find a number that suited him, only to discover that while he did so the phone would be the first to ring.

_"Hey...you're not going out tonight are you? I hope you remember me...me met at that...small nightclub on the Plateaus last week, I told you about how good you were with your words...maybe if you need a little company I could show you how good I am with my tongue?" _An enchantingly sinister and heraldry voice came from the answering machine, hallway through he had risen from his spot and pounced on the phone as if it were the first he had seen of food in a week, eagerness and heedlessness in his movements.

"Oh...hey, yeah...actually I was just about to make a few calls and see if anybody wanted to keep me company. You have expert timing too, huh?" He posed the question to the disembodied voice on the other end of the line, who now giggled back at him in a slightly high pitch. "You remember where I told you I live, right babe?"

And she had remembered, although it would have been damn near impossible to misplace the knowledge of such a lavish residence, in fact it had been the only one even remotely more then a filthy and over glorified closet. The plateaus had been a place of basic street commerce for Gotham, a scene where the meek at heart and meager in the wallet could make ends meet off of small stands selling produce and baked goods, and for the longest time people hovered over having just enough and being engulfed in the same poverty that plagued the narrows. A single skyscraper-esque building loomed over the entirety of this development, where the official press statement had been that the presence of the middle and upper class would reinvigorate their hopes for a better future, but in reality it was nothing more to them then being struck across the face by their own economic disparity. To them, it was just being laughed at by people didn't comprehend their own struggles. From the nineteenth floor of his high-rise apartment, he waited for his guest to arrive and prepared the somewhat awkward requests that had been given to him by her before hanging up the phone. In her own words she had demanded, albeit nicely, that he unlock the door and wait patiently for her in his bedroom with all of the lights to his apartment left off. He had remembered her from the very same club that she had spoke of, and from his memory he knew that she was an avid lover of role-play and making all that she could into a game, and for Blake that was more than enough to tickle his fancy. It moistened his appetite to indulge her as best he could, and see if she truly could think of something kinky or bizarre enough to shock him, as it had been so long since the last time something genuinely took him off his guard, and by now he was willing to just let her have her fun. Five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes had already gone by before he heard the slow creak of his door opening and a muffled and muted trail of footsteps leading straight towards him.

"Heh, for a second I thought you weren't going to show up. Are you going to tell me why i'm supposed to be sitting here in the fucking dark like an asshole?" He questioned in an accusatory manner, the door to his bedroom was the next to shutter open, although it had only been opened just enough so that its occupant could squeak through. The flat was so pitch black that even with the feminine figure inching closer to him by the second, he could not make out even the most basic of details, to him there was just this wisp of shadow lurking just beside his bed.

"Oh...I just thought that you could be a little open minded, I see you turned the lights off, good boy. Do you know how much better everything is in the dark? No preconceived notions, no best guesses, just us, it's so honest that way." She explained further, much to the chagrin of Blake as he was puzzlingly moving his arms around the room to touch her but without much luck. Just when he had finally managed to touch the side of one of his mistresses curves, she had viciously thrust him off of her as if she was swatting away a bothersome fly, leaping onto the bed and on top of him as she managed to hold him in place with both hands held by hers. "Now be a good boy and submit."

"I don't know what the fuck is wrong with you, but you are going to get off of me in three seconds or else im going to break that pretty little face of yours." He threatened.

"Oh...I love it when they think their in charge. Sorry, love, but you're not going to enjoy this." She admitted as she drew something from behind her back, the faint light casting off the object and showing the young man just enough of the woman's face, an imaginative visage of colorful imagery and a ghoulish grin coming off what appeared to be a skull. The sudden appearance made the man gasp abruptly at the sight, and a single swipe across the air followed by a soft cooing was all that could be heard before the apartment fell to an even more uncomfortable silence.


	33. Until Further Notice

For the most part, people had tended to visit on of the three commercial and residential hospitals that Gotham had to offer, either that or visit some other small medical centers that catered to more immediate results for people with much less severe injuries. Most of the people who would frequent such institutions were people who had some funds, but obviously couldn't afford to stay overnight or were on a limited health insurance plan which would be the end of them, so where they ended up in an emergency would be heavily influenced on what would hurt them the least. Middle and lower class families and single peoples alike, they were just trying to have a basic safety of mind without tearing their lives apart in the process, but for the top earners the city had a far different dynamic. You see, if you were among the highest one percent in terms of potential gross or total wealth you could still adhere to the ages old tradition of having your health care come directly to you, with enough money being all that was needed to keep the tabloids from asking too many pressing questions. And for the nearly not as youthful as he once was philanthropist billionaire Bruce Wayne, total scarcity and containment of information was something he had longed to keep close at hand, trust came to mind foremost but that alone wasn't enough this time. In the weeks prior he had started to notice an increasingly elevated level of discomfort in both his back and knees, not to mention numerous headaches that had been keeping him up at night when all he had desired was a decent nights rest, and while his trusted butler Alfred had always did all he could he feared this time it was something more involved. A small glass of scotch accompanying his early morning and a small tablet of Ambien resting beside said glass, he rubbed the sleep away from his weary eyes and slightly shook himself into a half-realized sense of mental sincerity. The doorbell rang as it had always done, but it took the well-esteemed heir off guard as it had been the first time in forever that he had actually had a guest, no matter that the guest had been summoned of his own doing...the isolation had been comforting to him as of late.

_"Sir...Dr. Clemson has arrived, should I tell him that you need to few minutes to prepare yourself?"_ Alfred asked through a moderately distorted speaker which had been fed into the room, a far cry from his actual present position at the front door of the monstrously sized manor.

"No...send him in, I'll be waiting in the study, if you could just show him the way Alfred?" He asked, trying to both give orders, yet still not come off as overbearing or commanding in any way to his lifelong friend and mentor.

_"Very well, master Bruce."_ He finished as a soft screech ended the conversation, his polite demeanor and British accent had been lost over the years to him, but it still gave the air that he had been so true to form of the archetype of a butler. In fact, he said it so many times it often made him sound unoriginal, but yet the truth as of late was nothing but just that...as he felt himself overwhelmed by a murky and disconnected place in the present as he swaddled himself in the past. There were many of which crossed his mind at all hours of the day, but there was one which seemed to rise above the rest, and at times he even felt that saying her name would be enough to bring her forth from the depths of damnation. But alas, reality prevails.

The halls and corridors of the manor, as well as the grounds of the estates outer limits, were expansive and offered much misfortune to those who had either straggled or were unfamiliar with the layout. The good doctor had been at least five years younger then his current client up upon this immersive abode, and was little more then a novice in practice being as he had only officially a physician for just under a year, but a youthful ambiance was ever present in his steps as well as his shoulder length blonde hair. More often then not in medical school he was chastised for it, and called such names as "squints" and "Jekyll" due to the overall unkempt nature that had persisted beyond his mastery of medicine at large, but no doubt if you were in need of a man who would uphold the Hippocratic oath you would find no better a man then Herald Clemson. In his heart he knew of student loan debts that were compiling into a behemoth that would threaten the stability of the rest of his career, and because of that he would often take up certain "house calls" that others might shy away from, more often then not they were from people offering far too much money to simply walk away from on some archaic principal or standard protocol. He also had missed calls coming out of the woodwork from several collectors on his mothers side, who had become sick of late and had been unable to return to work, and he was not in the least bit unbeknownst to the fact that her three hundred dollar a night hospital stay was adding up quickly. To Herald, the elder guide was a welcome company to him regardless of the fact that he spoke so seldom on the brief venture up a few flights of stairs, eventually ending the tour at the small study that was more like a library...where his benefactor of sorts was patiently waiting in the plush arms of a recliner. In his one hand he was grasping onto a manila folder which he had presumed was an exact copy of one which had been forwarded to him a week earlier, in it a series of scans and x-rays which had been in regards to the health of the adventurous playboy, and in his eye he could see Bruce Wayne held the same fear and uncertainty that he had felt upon first glance of the findings.

"Well, Mr. Wayne, I have looked over your bloodwork, x-rays, and pretty much everything that you've sent me...and to be honest I don't you'll like the answers. I mean, I could have made a mistake, i'm not exactly one hundred percent at diagnostics, you might want to consult one of my colleges for a second opinion." He further continued as he was paging through the stack of paperwork he had to demonstrate, clearly not having the best time breaking the truth to him.

"With all due respect to some of your colleges, Dr. Clemson, some of them are involved in certain things that I don't deem appropriate. And besides, you're fresh out of med school and have fresh eyes to look at it without all of the droll surgeon general indoctrination." He clarified as he looked at his guest and rose from his seat, taking off the suit coat he had been wearing so that the doctor could better examine him. "Plus...you don't have a reputation that can make you forget the privilege of doctor-patient confidentiality."

"Multiple partial tears in the lining of the inner occipital lobe, nearly a dozen noticeable healed sectors of the skull from what appears to be blunt force trauma, and then the full PET and CAT scans showed decreased activity in the first and second quadrant. Do you want to explain how exactly you managed to swap battle wounds with Mike Tyson?" He was leery of what the results might mean, and it wasn't his place to question beyond his own comfort zone, but yet it was his duty to inform him of the dangers involved with whatever he found.

"I'm a bit of a glutton for punishment...and I also used to play rugby in my early years." Bruce informed, hoping he would be understanding enough and take the bait at face value, although his only response was a snide huff and a shake of the head. "I've been having trouble sleeping at night, lots of back aches, but more important i was actually hoping for a recommendation to get back into the action."

"Rugby, huh?" He repeated unconvincingly, almost as unconvincing as the first time it had been uttered out of Wayne's mouth, a few routine tests of reflexes and dexterity now out of the way he packed up his small sack of medical supplies and began to back away. "Listen, i'm going to be as forthcoming as I can about this, Mr. Wayne you are lucky that your back is the only thing plaguing you right now. From the way I see it, you are about one or two decently placed punches away from serious injury, or worse given the already scarred brain tissue. The wrong amount of pressure applied to the already weak tissue, and you aren't going to get a nosebleed or a concussion, you'll hemorrhage and bleed to death. So, no...I can't in good conscience condone you playing rugby. I'm sorry."


	34. Full Disclosure

Bruce was leaving the day to its solemn note of half mast, his better wishful thinking having just walked out of the front door and leaving him alone with his worries, and for the very first time in his entire life he would have to linger in the moment where even his money couldn't replace the danger. No doubt, there were other times and circumstances where he might be able to say the same for others he cared for, but then again his former lover could not be so linearly claimed as his own after their penultimate encounter. So many could lay down a veneer of judgment towards his candor or demeanor but in doing so they would fully bring the light the fact that they never really knew him at all, for while he was the suave socialite that most would recount shaking hands with at a recent event or gathering, they knew little of his nightly escapades as the dark knight of Gotham himself. For three years he had staked the entire future of the population on his own abilities to single handedly dissolve the criminal element, and while he had been verily successful and his role as a bastion for justice at an unjust time was eagerly welcomed, he still was undermining the police force at every turn. And beyond those legal faults in his boundaries, or rather a lack thereof, he would also find out in the end that even with a moniker as frightening as the black sheen of a nocturnal creature clinging to the shadows and bound to an oath to punish the cruel...the truth was that he still was broken by his own ideologies when he refused to kill a single soul. To him it was nothing more then a sign that he had managed to cling to his own stage of morality, but to others in opposition to the young master it was merely weakness, a golden opportunity to take advantage once they realized that the beast of the alleyways that had haunted them for so long was far more tame then they had imagined. Ladies and gentlemen, this is how the halls of the disingenuous boom into a feverish frenzy and further were stimulated into galvanizing the streets to a breaking point, where the noble and genuine were to left to the worst of fates. This is where the dark knight fell, and where the clown prince rose to steal away the last laugh.

There was this moment in time where Bruce felt as if the days of his caped crusader were at an end, and that soon enough he could at long last return to the comfort of his home and sleep soundly, and maybe at a reasonable hour for once. But much to his disenchantment, a new player had stepped onto the scene to rally the united forces of the Falcone family and the Russian crime syndicate together for one last attempt to remain in control. This man had no known alias and his interests sprouted from an unknown sense of purpose, his scraggily blonde hair was unevenly layered with a pale, dark green which was as off-putting a match to his white grease makeup as anything else. He refuted all attempts at capture and with a couple bullets and a few barrels of gasoline managed to bring Gotham to its knees, where he lacked in brutality he excelled in his own insatiably twisted ways of describing human ethics, and although he dare not admit it for the sake of their shallow victory...Wayne was wise enough to understand that he was right. Everyone grew fond of calling him the Joker, and the studied and well-renowned district attorney Harvey Dent served to be the last rung of his plan to convince the world of just how close to the truth he was, as he had found him badly burned after a scheme the clown had enacted and told him how chaos was a far stronger ally then civility. One last foray into instability ensued just underneath the surface of what was seeming to be the climax of a city-wide nightmare spanning months and costing the security of hundreds, and the fallen angel lay lifeless and the last two soldiers of fortune had to decide weather to stay true or be true. To tell the honest recount of what had happened, all of what happened, and risk undoing everything they had worked so hard for. Bruce had already lost the love of his life, who had also been engaged to Harvey at the time, and now he was crippled in the wake of a decision that could have no satisfactory conclusion. It had been in his best interests that he would retain the title of their savior, the Batman, and continue the work he had been involved in despite the obvious backlash from the public eye after the discovery of Dent's death at "his" hands. The difference in intention and impending condescension however, is that each night he suited up a heavy dread fell upon him as his stepped out of the shadows, there was a lingering voice that kept telling him that he wasn't going to make a difference without killing a hundred more, and the blood that was on his hands haunted him every waking second.

It had been two months since the incident, and at first things had been polarizing within the media: there had mostly been a solid separation between two distinct groups of people, one being the majority of the police force who had their sights trained on him for his crimes, and the common man who had been slow to accept that he would do such a thing. But in the wake of all that happened and his disappearance for such an extended period of time, the propaganda geared against him had made his side of things seem all the more far fetched, and yet to him he was allowing the barrage of criticism and the glorified witch hunt in order to keep far more dangerous men behind bars and out of the reach of the public. It had been a warm Saturday afternoon and Bruce had reminisced enough to feel raring for a visit to and old friend of his, with much on his mind and hoping that the developments he was planning to set into motion would remedy his aching soul, a plush and well-accommodated limousine ride bringing him to the ground floor of Wayne Tower. Even with the still scarred sensibility lingering in the air it stood as a symbol that this city had bore itself through the worst of times and yet remained unaffected, like the rest of the people coming and going through the transit hubs or drinking from water mains running from underneath its foundation, it was damaged but never destroyed. On the thirty-ninth floor of the building was the office of the one and only Lucius Fox, a man with whom he had worked and built a very enduring rapport during his time as the Batman, not to mention his own connection to his father back when he was a member of the board. Like a relic found in a tomb full of memories from a long forgotten time, Fox had been designated to a minuscule department known as "Applied Sciences," where he had been in charge of a literal dead-end where a slew of miscellaneous technologies were stored for record and reliability. Because of his work with Bruce, he had been able to eventually leave the depths of A.S. and once again became a member of executive management, and more importantly then that he remained a trusted advisor to him still to this very day.

_"Well, well, well. If it isn't Bruce Wayne, in the flesh, it's been a while. Some people have been saying you have become a recluse."_ He greeted as the heir entered his office and smiled sincerely at him, then motioning for him to have a seat in a small chair beside his desk. "What do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Wayne?"

_"No, not yet. I wanted to get your opinion on something." _Bruce explained as he sat one leg atop of the other before looking back at his old friend, who was chuckling slightly in response to his reasoning.

_"What's the problem with a phone call?"_ He questioned as the last of his humor gave way, somewhat indifferent to the answer but also observing a fair amount of seriousness just in case.

_"I'd like to bring Applied Sciences out of the shadows, I'd like to institute full disclosure for all technology related to the Batman, if we release what we know the press will take it as stolen materials and we can claim full deniability. Just dead weight, and sooner or later someone is going to start snooping around, why not just have it be us?"_ Wayne further told Fox, partially flabbergasted by the announcement to such an extent that he just stared at him confusingly as he took off his glasses and held them in hand.

"Mr. Wayne, I don't think I need to explain to you the amount of ways that this can end badly, not just for you but for the both of us. Just how exactly were you planning to do this?" Lucius inferred.

"We send out emails through an encrypted channel to the GCPD, showing the prototypes and their obvious similarity to the Batman's, and then when we have them question us we'll give them full access to our files. Our entire technology cache will become open source, and from there...from there we focus our attention elsewhere. We wont be suspected if we comply with the investigation."

"It's not a staple of mine to start fires just to put them out, Mr. Wayne. I just hope you know what you're doing." He muttered in a softer tone then usual.

He made good on his promise to Lucius, and within a week an anonymous source had tipped off the police that some pieces of equipment from the Wayne foundation had in fact found their way into the hands of the masked vigilante at large, and like clockwork a team of officers were sent to launch a full-scale investigation of the matter. Many had questioned whether or not the suspect was someone with a great deal of power, seeing as he had been capable of "borrowing" defense materials without anyone being made aware, but considering the nature of the mostly defunct department little ground could be made with such claims. A month down the line the last of the police involvement had ceased and things went back to normal, and now the new direction of the company was shifted to alternative fuel sources and drone technologies for the military. It was the fundamental principal the entire time that Bruce Wayne did not want to have to witness, nor be indirectly responsible for the death of anyone else in this life or the next, and so he devoted his time to trying as best he could to making the world a better place while showing his face. And in the nights where he felt it would finally be a moment for restful slumber as the night took its hold, he instead took up the partying and reckless behaviors that he had been pretending to participate in prior. There was a thin veil of enjoyment that was coming through his eyes as he did such things, but in the pit of his stomach he knew he was wasting time, he was wasting the moonlight just as much as he was wasting himself within another bottle. The plan was nothing short of everything he had hoped for, and all that he needed to do in order to safeguard his reputation was sacrifice Batman to the masses, and all the while he lived without him he felt like lesser a man for it.

_Bruce...i'm sorry..._

_Please...don't make me you're only chance at a normal life..._

_I believe...I don't believe there'll be a day when you don't need Batman..._

_I'm sorry...i'm going to marry Harvey Dent..._

_...I'll always be here for you...but as your friend..._


	35. Doctors Orders

A doctors duty, his utmost priveledge, his responsibility above all else is to the safety of the paitients held within his care. This begins with the basic needs of their condition, and perpetuates further as they examine and do their best to treat whatever ails them, but above all else they are expected to respect the lives of the people who trust them with their future wellbeing. When getting into this department of logistics and a throng of people who are far too eager to sterilize that process and eliminate the human element, it's dificult at times to stay true to the princepals of the Hippocratic oath. With all of that being said, sometimes there comes a point of polarization where you have to adequately decide which matters most to you in the end: the lives of those in your care, or the bylaws for which your care was initially provided. There were times in which different emergencies had left the city of Gotham entirely bone dry in regards to medical supplies, regardless of the sheer volume of people coming in needing stitches or bandages, where the standard protocol would have been to simply inform them that given the situation there's nothing that can be done for them. Some choose to believe that is a primary example of where the rulebook fails, and when it fails the patients it is up to the physicians to take an alternative approach to the solution in order to assist those in need. Michael Harrell was one such doctor, and he had done such things often enough to fully adopt the procedure as a secondary countermeasure, his benefactor in question being none other than the ever so helpful men and women of the Falconie crime syndicate. And for the most part the partnership was a mutually beneficial one in fact, as they would have various issues of their own with their men which could be treated in any sort of official manner, and they provided additional supplies as well as a hefty amount of financial support. He wasn't greedy by any means, and for the most part would bank the majority of what they gave him, but even with the proper level of connections there was no amount of safety here that came on a budget.

"I don't think I need to remind you of the consequences, you know, of interfering with a police investigation? He came to see you just a few days prior to his death, that makes you one of the last people who may or may not have known about his whereabouts."

"And I shouldn't have to remind you what the word "confidentiality" means, but then again with that stick wedged so far up your ass it might be a little hard to remember from time to time. The patient's rights remain intact, whether he is diseased or not, but if you don't get the fuck out of my office your dignity wont be."

A sadly pathetic state of decay had befallen the Gotham city police department of late, they had always been met with a fair amount of scrutiny and more often not were prone to extensive corruption when left unsupervised, but this was different. Now things had at long last become of a more personal nature, and now the remaining pieces of the boys in blue were marching into his office and demanding explanations as to why he was seeing patients in relation to this or that. Sure, this time it was because of the person in questions own murder, but none the less was it a waste of their time to send someone down there to harass him...let lone his former friend of all people. More likely then not he had opted to be the one to come above all other uniformed officers, maybe he thought he would get a rise out of the aging bachelor and somehow feel as though he had been the better man, but that in and of itself was nothing more than a cheap gag. Melvin was only second in his chances to win a Nobel Peace award then an outstanding prostitute outside of an orphanage, sure maybe a small dash of poor intent might shake people into making a selfless decision and do what's right, but it doesn't change the facts. He left in an uproar and stormed into the lobby, as well as the parking lot, shaking his fists and insisting that he would acquire a warrant to search his premises the next chance he got: case in point, he was an asshole. It wasn't about some piece of vital evidence that only he held, it was that their unfinished business from long ago still made him sore in the soul, and now he was still trying as best he could to take it out on him...and if it wouldn't have been for the godson living with him at home he would have made good on his promise. The silence sank in once again, and Michael alerted his receptionist that he would be working on a few things and that he wanted her to screen his calls and take messages for the next hour or so, stating that unless it was a genuine emergency he wasn't to be bothered. Taking a single breathe in deeply through the nose, he nestled in with a pile of paperwork which he had backlogged from the last week, and began to sift through it as he logged in to his email account.

_"DO YOU WANT TO INCREASE THE SIZE OF YOUR..."_

_"HeY There, TherE ArE SeXY SinGlEs in YouR ArEa..."_

_"You've chosen the wrong side, doctor..."_

The third message caught him off guard as soon as he had finished reading it, the name attached to the email address had seemed delightfully fake but the message alone seemed to cast an ominous gaze over his day. With his alliance to the Falconie family, many had offered to pay him more to do some other tasks that had been beyond the grey area he currently occupied, like say farming medicinal marijuana or making certain witnesses stay quiet. A cold chill went down the length of his spine as he valiantly tried to fight the idea that he was being watched, and the window of his office now seemed like a deathtrap that mocked him, yet fully well aware of the fact that if they wished him dead he already would be. Shaking his head in such a way that mimicked his own not so literal approach of shaking away the dangers of what he was involved in, he dragged the email into the recycling bin of his desktop and held his brow upon his palm in contemplation, this would most assuredly be something he brought up to his secondary employer who had swore that he would not be left in any danger. Although the thing was, despite the status that the Falconie had in the past, they were a dying breed that was shambling through their autumn years and most of the members of the organization were smart enough to see the writing on the wall. Times were changing all around them and they had little of a contingency plan in place to deal with such things, leaving their future a gargantuan question mark in the face of Gotham, for while they had been the predator for so long it still drove fear into the hearts of the small to think something could slay such a beast. It was halfway between this thought that the corded phone on his desk beside him began to ring, slightly annoyed and put off by the disturbance but still recognizing that his duties took precedence, causing him to promptly spring into action and answer.

_"Doctor, i'm sorry to interrupt, but there's a woman here who is demanding to speak with you. I told her she would have to make an appointment but she is insisting that its an emergency."_ A calm and collected voice from the other end spoke in a very faint and airy tone, much like a field mouse.

"Don't worry about it, Roberta. You've been a doll, just...just send her in." He sounded out in the middle of what might have just have been the most satisfying yawn of his entire life, leaving the young woman who entered into the office mid-yawn with hardly a welcoming facial expression. Not noticing or caring about the stipulation he motioned for her to take a seat in one of the two chairs on the opposite side of his desk, now finally having enough focus to fully assess the young lady in greater detail, he could see her reddish brown hair more clearly as the lights of the room cascaded against her clear skin. "Well...what can I do for you, miss...?"

"It's Lanelli. Penelope Lanelli. I...I was told by a friend that you are someone that I can trust...someone who's willing to help, even it means cutting a few corners?" She croaked, not in the way that would be doing a disservice to the intelligent and well appreciated tone that carried such a lovely voice, but in the vain that meant she honestly felt as if she was here because she had little else in the way of choice.

"I feel like I've heard that name before...wait, isn't your mother a judge or something? And your father? Isn't he some sort of minister at that giant mega church downtown? People talk about him every once in a while, say how he changed their lives, others like myself think he's drinking too much of the kool-aid." He voiced his opinion, to seconds later have his comments be met by a slow and steady nod of the head, signifying that his guesses had been correct. "You are a very, very beautiful young woman...and this might just be my imagination, but you also look very, very pregnant. What exactly are you asking me to do for you?"

"Listen...you have to understand me, you're the only one who just might. My parents are insane...they...they want me to keep the baby to try and teach me a lesson for a mistake, it's not fair to myself or the baby. If it is brought up here, I know what will happen to it, and god forbid if the dad finds out where it end up if it's adopted. My parents have used their influence and connections to make every hospital and planned parenthood refuse to return my calls...they've made me into some sad liability. I...I just want to able to do what's right...and I honestly don't even know what that is anymore." She was fuming at the mouth for parts of it, at others she would be fighting back the urge to pour out her heart any further and risk blubbering in front of him, she wiped away a small trace of what would soon follow as Michael walked over to her steadily and gently embraced her. Her head was cradled into the palm of his hand and her face was buried into the midsection of his chest, pulling her away from him once she had once again regained her composure, he placed one hand over the top of her shoulder blade and looked her straight in the eyes with a fiery and impassioned gaze that only he understood the true importance of.

"It's going to be alright, you hear me, it's alright. I might be a bit rusty at this, but believe it or not I used to be a crisis counselor. But you've got to listen to me, okay? This next question might just be the most important one in your life, got it?" She motioned up and down with her head once more silently. "How far along are you?"


	36. Duality

Have you ever felt like someone had completely betrayed the sanctity of the image you had created of them? Disappointing you to the point where everything you knew, or thought you knew, was put under and intense layer of scrutiny? We tend to hope for others to be the best that they can, but in doing so we are often the catalysts for a blatant disregard to better judgment. I don't know why I cared so much for you, but know that I never stopped, nor shall I ever. I did not foolishly burry the feelings from within...I just prevented them from further burying myself. You're content now, even with the intrusion of my own second guessing, and that itself will be a sufficient lullaby all the while. I hope you never come back...more than that I wish that you never return...I pray with the best of me that you never again stretch your visions of me past a sentimental veneer of yesteryear. There's nothing left for you here, and by all accounts, you are better for it. Even I, by all truth, am merely sleepwalking through the days as they come. But yet strangely enough, I have a newfound happiness as I lurk, just incapable of leaving behind the sensation that I am waiting for something that lies beyond. And that more remains to my life's story then would meet the eyes of grief and pained rationalization, and if you have been enjoying these ramblings then maybe this has been a welcome announcement for you, but in all fairness I tell you now that my very being feels so far away. As if I am a lone leaf slowly crumbling, finding little that can be done to dissuade the breeze from carrying me off to god knows where, and the thin lining of sensibility that glued my reality in place was coming undone. Who am I? Or rather more pertinently poised...who am I becoming?

There's still more that you do not know, more of which I wouldn't even allow myself to remember just yet, but when I do fully expose the last of the secrecy I hope you dare not cast me off in thoughts of purportedly dishonest behavior. It was just for the best, the way my mind had worked, the way that everything had been ever since the year prior. Sincerity is most useful in small doses, and I suppose that as much as it pains me the time has come for me to take another. Even though times can deteriorate into a bleak monstrosity of fear and lost opportunity, it's best to just let go. I must let go. I'm afraid of small dots...I know, that sounds utterly ridiculous but I swear i'm being as forthcoming as I can with all of this, and perchance it's not so much fear as much as it is a stress induced anxiety. Silence hadn't been a strong suit of mine either, never really caring for it much and again I know it seems to hold no barring whatsoever, but rest assured there is a reasoning behind my madness. Shortly after my father passed away, my mother locked herself in her room and refused to come out, as time went on things got worse and at times she would disappear into her own world for days or even weeks. She just didn't know what to say to myself or any of our friends or family members, so she just shut the world away so she wouldn't ever have to, and one of the few saving graces of it had been that her workplace had been understanding and extremely generous in giving her time off for bereavement. At one point I remember having spent a week straight trying to convince her just to see someone, whether it was a doctor or psychiatrist, all I wanted was for her to be as happy again as she once was...but nothing could prepare me for what would follow when she finally took my advice. You see, she had gone to the doctors office complaining of having aches and pains and having trouble sleeping, not to mention weight loss but for the most part it was shrugged off as a mere side effect of the depression brought on by our recent loss. That was how things stood...until they found the lump.

My house was starting to feel like a tomb at that point, and there were certain days were I literally spent my entire day rolling around in bed deliberating on what was my reason for getting out of bed, but between Lilly and my mother I gave them my time and I dried the tears to be with them. But the thing was, in the midst of everything that was going on my mother had began to see an old friend of my fathers far more then she normally would have, a high ranking official of the Gotham police named Melvin. He was mostly a superficial asshole who was completely in love with himself, but my dad had always told me that he had been friends with him for a reason, and that there was much that I could learn about humanity by just watching preconceived notions wither: when you see the obvious, and then let it dry into devastation, all you can see is truth. In time, I too would learn this, but for me it was not by the means of which I had started my cursory glance but by more melancholy and mischievous of means. They grew closer, they talked with more smiles then frowns, and my dad rarely became a topic of discussion in his own home as they sipped a fine wine and he would sweep her off her already shaky feet. You might go so far as to call it love, and it the best of respects I would declare that a fair amount of evidence would support that, she even managed to miraculously recover shortly after the diagnosis that had apparently labeled her with months to live. But I would have preferred a bit more tact and tastefulness from a supposed "dear friend" of the late man who had raised me since birth, and this display was nothing more than an abomination to the love that had willed me into being. As much as the news of my own dear mothers clean bill of health had left me feeling overjoyed, it would have been much more satisfactory if her healthy heart had been given to a savior, and not a serpent.

The masquerade had been a little while ago, and for the most part I hadn't kept in touch with the commissioner as closely as I had led him to believe, mostly just checking in with him a day or so after the incident and then asking him to keep me in the loop in case of anything "interesting" coming up. I know, couldn't be any less specific if I had tried, but after the sights of the Gatsby it was in my vested interest of sanity that I refrain from focusing on it any further. And besides, in promptly a weeks time the small pay-as-you-go cellphone rang as it stayed nestled comfortably in my pocket like it was its own eternal prison, and Gordon informed me that he was going to be in the center city area midday and that he had a few things that he wished to consult me on. In the text he had mentioned an arrival timeframe of two thirty, so I made sure to arrive nearly an hour early and scout out for him as he made his approach down a long strip of high class businesses ranging from jewelry and formal wear to negligee. Once I was within a closer proximity it had become somewhat obvious why he had wished me to meet him down here of all places, as a small jeweler had been unfortunate enough to have every single one of his or her windows busted out, and particles of glass were everywhere. Now, that isn't any sort of deterrent to a place like Gotham, so naturally as my eyes soaked in the seen from twenty feet away it was still abundantly clear that the place had been completely cleaned out. Mostly likely managed to make at least fifty thousand on a job like this, but yet places like this were supposed to have better security, and still from the looks of things from the outside looking in they were taken off guard by brute force.

"You just couldn't wait for me any longer, could you?" Gordon asked humorously as he appeared a few feet behind me, catching me off guard and causing me to lose composure for a brief second, but the mask once again was on my side as it disguised my expression and aided in safeguarding my professionalism.

"You know me, just trying to make my actions match my outfit...the place is completely cleaned out from the looks of things, and wait I thought you said you weren't on the force anymore?" I questioned with a chuckle as I looked over the scene with my arms crossed, the commissioner would do the same next as he paced back and forth over the area of the front door and the two large display windows on either side, logically enough considering it would give us some clue as to the method of entry. "Any ideas, Holmes?"

"I know the guy who owns this place...these tiny pieces are what's left of a three inch sheet of bulletproof glass. Its not supposed to shatter, most cases a bullets fired at it and the material bends in place and absorbs the impact, whatever hit this started to eat the glass on contact."

"It's been awhile since I've had chemistry, but I have some connections of my own if you don't mind." I admitted as I crouched down in an Indian style position and took a small sample of the glass, as well as a small swab of the ground around the area of the break, and put inside a small zip-lock baggie. It was then that I had noticed a small folded up napkin which had been clumsily shoved in-between the door and the frame, which once carefully unfolded showed a deep black and blotted up lipstick mark. "What about this?"

James was able to take the object in hand, more so grabbing it by the one corner as if it were carrying some kind of foul disease, and by his face alone he was more than capable to find a connection of some sort to the crime before us. He was fixated on it for a few minutes before carefully placing it into a small container for further preservation, for a second I swore I could hear a siren in the distance and there was a slight shift in the wind, and the two of us could sense that attention was being drawn to us. The police weren't on the scene, but considering the handful they had been dealing with of late it wasn't at all surprising, especially taking into account that in the wake of such conflict they had been left without a fair amount of their leadership and commanding officers. Twenty minutes had passed from the time we finished our cursory investigation of the scene, and to avoid any and all suspicion Gordon had told me that it would be best if we waited for the police to show up, and surely enough two lowly officers arrived to greet us. Kinder men then I was expecting, and they seemed to tip their hat to James in the midst of a timid frenzy of appreciation, as if they were small children meeting their life long idol. With some more legitimate weight behind our inquiries, we pressed onward and into the jewelry store as the two stayed behind, a bit out of sorts but it was almost as if they respected him enough to blindly follow his orders until the very end and trust that he knew best. What was left of the window pains was scattered throughout the floor going as far back as to a small room which I had guessed was for employee use only, housing the safe and other stock that hadn't been ready to be placed on the showroom.

"Well, hello there, at least someone was watching." I commented as my eyes met a standard security camera mounted in the far corner of the room, a small red light blinking and indicating that it was recording and operational.

"Who would go to all the trouble of smashing bulletproof glass...just to walk straight into a security camera without even trying to take it out?" He pondered to himself as he strolled through the hazardous minefield of glass and broken shelving fixtures.

"You've been looking at that cloth ever since I pointed it out, want to keep me in the loop here?" My voice demanded, he shook his head but it seemed to be less of a disapproval and more of just shrugging off a bad omen.

"There was another call-in late yesterday, a body turned up in a sunrise apartment, a similar cloth had been left behind there as well. We wont be sure unless we can get it to a lab to test it, but I don't see where the two could match up, the victim was a police informant at one of the larger banks in Gotham." He explained, fervently waving his hands about to better articulate his points.

"Well commissioner, it looks like we might just have a little mystery on our hands, you never know...this might actually be kind of fun." I supposed as my arms crossed and a devious smile crept across my face, the idea of a little more fun being needed in my extracurricular anyway, and right about then just being thankful that it wasn't an undertaking I took alone.

"Famous last words..." He retorted, obviously meaning to cast aside the enjoyment I was taking in any of it, but at the same time he could tell that my sarcasm was somewhat well placed in a business as heavy as this.


	37. Recovery

You would honestly be surprised how seldom it is that things are just as they appear to be, for with the sheer level of disregard for trust in the world out there, you would not be entirely baseless and paranoid to suspect a situation of having more to offer then its face value. This is the spine-influenced piece of extrasensory deduction that has aided detectives, and average busybodies alike for hundreds of years, and despite the lot of the negatives we have against us it is one of the brightest aspects of the human race. Have you ever asked someone about the things that plague them above all else? You know, those secret paranoid idiosyncrasies that seem to activate at the most inopportune of times, and maybe some would rather become tied down by social indoctrination trying to keep the truth of who they are from the rest of the world. What you might find to be a rather informative exercise is to find such people, and then honestly tell them those sweet nothings that our mothers may have just told our infantile selves to calm the nerves, and then report on just how effective your methods were. The reasons behind the slightly inept teens in horror movies repeating such mantras of self reflective protection is not because they are overreacting, but instead that they are just so enraptured in said trepidation that they cannot escape unless they lower themselves to the level of fear itself. Do you want to save yourself? Well, in the faded realm of moral ambiguity there lies a path to a power that cripples all towering mantles and sets all established dominance ablaze, but then again most of us are civilized enough never to stray so far from the shores of mental stability. I mean, you wouldn't want to burn yourself now, would you? But alas you may just never understand, the insane do not wish to be burned from the consequence of their tact, they simply do not believe in the world...they don't see the flame...they become it.

Evidence was all around us within the jewelry store, but most of it was nothing more than a fair bit of senseless conjecture, or in the very least it would be until we could have more concrete results backing our theories. A safe in the backroom had been wiped clean but had appeared to show no signs of forced entry, which was only further puzzling us as the culprit in question was willingly to shatter a pain of bullet resistant glass, but yet she had a foolproof plan to open the safe with ease. The whole thing seemed completely needless and off to me, and Gordon could sense it clear as day, but we left with as much as we could before we had been ushered off of the premises by more officers who had arrived to secure the scene. Incredibly late in doing so, might I add, but the two officers who had let us in the first place had informed us that as far as the department was concerned this was of a low level of priority. They had mentioned something about the brunt of the attention was being shifted towards the murder of which was supposedly tied to this incident, although as much as they claimed that the officers who had arrived last were in no mood for either of us and had even threw out the word "contempt" before I ducked back to disappear into a darkened corner. It wasn't exactly part of some sort of master plan to just up and leave the commissioner at the crime scene alone with them, but he was quick on his feet and had been one of them not so long ago, so his fate seemed to be without a shred of danger. The small zip-lock baggie I had procured from the shop was still in my pocket, as I had climbed up the wall of one of the buildings and shimmying from windowsill to windowsill it felt as though the small piece I had collected was jutting out and into my leg. Only slightly unpleasant an experience, so I pressed onward and made my way up to the rooftop and took a seat to catch my breath for a moment or so, the air was not coming in belated and taxed wheezing which had told me things were getting easier as I continued on. That being said, my body wasn't exactly at the Arnold Schwarzenegger level where I could carelessly bench press a car or even pull myself off of a mountain with my pinkie finger, so the idea of improving the situation and joining a gym was coming up every now and again.

"Lemme take a look at you..." I had removed the small piece of fractured glass from its container and held it in my gloved hand at a curious angle, then bringing it closer to my eyes for a better view, the odd sample exhibited an even more peculiar shape.

Usually, even with something as persistent as this glass, the pressure would slowly build and ripples would form and then the eventually break would leave a more uniform shape in result. But here it was not the case, this piece was broken much more like a normal pain of glass which would yield a million microscopic pieces, I shook my head at the reality that I had been spending my day's time prior to work involving myself with such nonsense. But yet again, it wasn't lacking in the fun department, the only thing that had been disturbing me was the mention of the item that had been left behind at both crimes...but my mind made quick work of my own conclusions being drawn when all we had known was that it was black lipstick. The winter was approaching and with it a far more ominously long periods of darkness of which Gotham honestly didn't need it was to be having any hopes of maintaining tourism or subtlety. Ten minutes would follow and I soon after found my way back towards where I had last left my car, whose days were numbered if the chirping in the engine and the parasitic amount of rust throughout its body were to be any consultation, and made my way to work in stride. I might not mention it much to you, but you know if you are asking me such a question to begin with I feel as though you might also be the target market behind the chia pet, and might just also paint your home just for the enjoyment of watching it dry. No offense meant to be taken, I assure you i'm not trying to be an asshole, but there's also the small tidbit where not even I can have much to say about my small base of operations in the ongoing battle against poor hygiene. Its just a job guys, it was then and it most likely forever shall be, but by god has it been a godsend at times when all I need is a place to stop being so heavy all of the time. I mean, some people might just accuse me of being the opposite at home, but there is a heaviness in my newfound hobby that has left me longing for the identity of an ordinary teenager who doesn't know the world so damn thoroughly. I remember that most days I would inadvertently find myself spacing out while staring out a small window by my station, and there would oddly enough be a small patch of flora that would grow through the crack of the pavement. At one point I had came to the understanding that not only had there been flowers growing from said crevice, albeit weakly, but one of them had been a slightly weathered rose. But most of the time when I shook my head and returned to work for a short while, it wasn't there any longer by the time I had returned my attention, leaving me to assume it was nothing more then just a pair of tired eyes.

So, if I have been so against the idea of writing anything in length about my workplace, why on earth would I spend the time I already have to set the stage so opportunistically? Patience, it can be a most wonderful virtue, if only you let it. At where I work there is this whole policy about employees and our supposed benefits, or lack thereof, and how you could eat something whenever we weren't busy but if you wanted a drink you would have to wait until after the shift was over. And yes, I am aware of the fact that I wasn't remotely close to the legal drinking age, but the thing you need to understand about Italians is that they are very traditional and might just offer you a sip or twelve of vodka. There's a basic sense that they will take care of their own and would maybe do a few things that aren't on the level, but as long as you aren't so clueless as to speak of it outside of the restaurant then everyone can come out of it without fault. My shift was coming to a close at about eleven o'clock, and my first instinct had just been to stay there for a little while and unwind from the lot of my life's events, and at about halfway between a fishbowl sized glass of pinnot grigio and the makings of alcoholism I was feeling amazing. From my forehead down to the very tips of my toes I was feeling more free then I had felt in ages, my mind had been more so affected then anything else as I continually made small talk with the people around me to assess whether or not my speech that been downgraded to slurs as much as Michael would after a night out. Or in the very least, the times where he actually said he had made it worth his while to go out, for he was a big guy and would often get frustrated at the amount of alcohol he would need to get him to the blackout state. So like I said, i'm there and now only a few sips standing from myself and the end of my glass which now that i'm spending more time on details is actually looking just as big as I had thought, and that is the moment when I hear the front door to the place swing open and a single woman enter and sit down at the bar beside me. At this point I probably wouldn't have minded so much if I had been sober, or at least somewhat coherent, but the most im moving at this point is to adjust my head placement against the bar and to possibly wipe up drool. So yes, not the smoothest of first impressions, although from the greeting I receive I quickly realize that I have met this woman before.

"Hey, valium." She started, giving me a brief nudge, my head lifting from its mahogany pillow to see that it was in fact Penelope herself, which might have caused a decent amount of awkwardness if the circumstances hadn't found that part of my brain sleepwalking through the moment.

"Shhh...first rule of the Irish, never interrupt a man when he's deep in thought, or drinking. And currently, I am in the middle of both." I reasoned with her, her eyes budging out further as she came to terms with the fact that I was intoxicated.

"Wait...aren't you...you know...underage?" She inquired.

"Shhhh...don't be a narc. But yes, I am underage, like...extremely underage." The spirits were finally sinking in to their fullest extent, and now it had become rather obvious to me that my balance and coordination had been severly compromised, but yet the euphoria backing it all was enough to will myself forward.

"Oh my god...i'm sorry to get in the way of...whatever it is im seeing right now." She tells me as she rolls her eyes into the back of her head, but surprisingly laughing at the situation all the same.

"No, no, no, no. Wait, listen I want to say that im...so-sorry. About the other night, you were trying to help me out and I kind've ruined the moment. Li-listen, the nights still young and I've taken my Midol, come on let me work some magic and try to make it up to you."


	38. Drop Distance

_Now Brian...I want you to concentrate on my voice...can you do that?_

_Brian! Brian! Can you hear me!_

_Does it ever just feel like something's missing...like parts of your life are missing...like one fucked up jigsaw puzzle?_

_What are you doing here?_

_If you aren't living...for something...then you might as well be dead mwahahahahahee!_

_Hey...come back to me..._

_Wareware wa futatabi au yotei..._

There just so happen to a few times where you can find little wrong with allowing yourself a little lapse in focus or attention, we are creative beings and with such comes to understanding that we are going to end up zoning out every now and again, but if you are going to just lose track of the time and blink with the result being a period of seconds or even minutes being forfeited...for the love of god you should never do it when you're out with a girl. For crying out loud, unless you are so accustomed to women throwing themselves at you at every opportune moment, then you are going to be like the rest of us hopeless saps who get to see such a pleasant change of pace less frequently then the aurora borealis. So, what exactly does that entail? In short, it means that if not for yourself, every single man should have enough sense to take advantage of the times where such lovely women would willingly join you for a night of plans that were half regurgitated from the sloppy mind of a drunk and antisocial hermit such as myself. With all of that being said, I guess you could understand just how infuriated I was with the situation when I closed my eyes just to take a deep breathe and steady my footing, and I swear I managed to move from just outside of my workplace all the way to some handful of miles down the paved pedestrian crosswalk. Admittedly she still was managing to take in the trace amounts of moonlight effectively enough to look just as graceful as she had the last two times I had seen her, my own consciousness wished to be able to drill a tad deeper and say she was beautiful, but if I did just that it would have been from the perspective from an uninterested party. That would have been a disservice to such a magnificent sight, and sure considering my rendezvous in the alley some time back I cant really talk but this was different to my staggering cerebellum, and with her it was nice to be beside her without the slightest idea of lustful embraces. My body had been elsewhere, and much the same could be said of my dizzying heart, but with her all I wanted was to envelop myself in the foray of sensation and refute any desire to fornication...for with her it wasn't about me or what I wanted at all.

"Are you sure you'll be okay...I mean not that I don't trust you're ability to drunk walk...just you still haven't told me where we're even going." She asked uneasily, she didn't seem at all fettered by the lack of a destination, but more so just that I actually make it there with my lunch and dinner intact.

"Did you ever ha-have anything that you loved or wanted to be...but you just never followed through with it?" My voice was still slowed to a whisper, but in such a way that made it appear that I was both trying to tell an unsaid truth behind the mystery of life, yet also accomplishing it as secretively as possible. I was managing to speak and walk at the same time just fine by this point, and really the only thing to impede my multitasking was the incessant burping that was making it nearly impossible to finish a sentence without the swelling of air in the my throat.

"Yeah, I wanted to be a ballerina...well, I did eventually settle for trying to be a dancer. Period. But I basically have two left feet so...it didn't go too well." She was keeping the smiles coming as if she was having them mass produced out of my sight, and by some measure I could tell that they might have only had half the intensity by heart, I appreciated her level of care in not trying to drag me down emotionally.

It wasn't always a tactic of mine to applaud such a strategy, seeing as after the incident at the movie theater you wouldn't believe how many people treated me as if they were afraid to shatter me like a glass window pane, always planning out ahead of time how they would handle everything they would say to me. Penelope's carefully calculated verbiage didn't reek of the same child-friendly mannerisms of all the rest, but instead just was someone calling out in vein and hoping for the best but knowing better then to expect anything but the worst, in a way it was like how some people might talk to their cat or sing in the shower. It's not the end all be all solution but more of a Band-Aid to cover a skeleton in the closet, there's no need to air out ones dirty laundry to the world but the same time we all do the same things at times to alleviate the scars effects. For the while, whether it was to be just for this night only, or if it were so willed by the fates that I get more chances to stand beside her I would proudly be the water to drip down her slender form and chase away the casualties of the past as well as the burdens of her world. That cape had been enough to allow me anonymity in my plight to save many, despite myself having only had a few weeks of hands on practice, but non the less it was with her that things actually sunk in and began to resonate. I could save this city in so many a manner of ways, and while it had been so easy to lose myself in the brutality I had seen with the likes of those I had faced, in the eyes of those I had saved I made a connection that had grounded me in what I would lose. It was also this that made me partiality downtrodden that I couldn't give her more then friendship, but it would be of no use to her or I if I gave her myself half hazardly, I just mumbled an inaudible derivative of this to myself as I made a few disjointed paces towards her still standing form. She was finding the purpose behind my own body closing in lost on her, but considering you would have to understand how the mind translates the thoughts into actions when its severely tied down by the spirits of Sicily, so I wasn't expecting her to have any less of a confused expression on her face. Taking her hands into my own, she leeringly went along with my motions as after one last unpleasant burp I began to speak.

"Fi-first off, sorry if it smells like a foot died in my mouth. Alright, the whole "i have two left feet so I cant dance" thing is kind've bullshit, it's all...in your head." I informed her as my left pointer finger lightly tapped her forehead before going back to its original place in holding her right hand. "It's extremely simple, now all yo-you need to do is just take both of your hands and wrap them around one another and go over my neck. Now, here's the tricky part. I am going to one direction, and you are going to go the opposite technically, but just whatever you do...follow my footsteps, okay? We're going to go left, right, then i'll take a step back while you take a step forward, and then we'll switch."

As soon as I had finished my giving instructions, albeit I most likely overcomplicated the whole process in the way I worded everything, we were off and my feet inched to the left at an awkwardly dull snails pace to which she matched the speed and met back with mine. Then we did the same thing to the right side without any issues to be seen, now at this point I was grinning like I had been a part of some grand scheme that was all going my way, but considering I was pulling this off at half capacity and no one was having their toes crushed it was worthwhile to smile toothily. Hips swaying a bit as I did so, my feet went back as she moved hers front and center, and then as my hands slid around her back I managed to send her off in the opposite direction from me with a faint nudge. My own grip on her wrist was the one thing which kept her within reach, the slight breeze that was hitting her face at the moment managed to be enough to lighten her spirits and she soon wore much of the same grin that I had before I pulled her back toward me with a flick of my wrist. In the wake of my little exercise of flare and style, which by the way she was glowing was indicating that I wasn't the only one who felt it had been executed to perfection, she sat for a moment carefully resting between the base of my chest and the crook of my neck. It had always made me happy to witness others have their dreams come forth and be more then just placations of the nights embrace, sometimes people attribute irritability to unhappiness and yet they never come around to thinking that the fruit of their labor has been placed in a branch that is far too high for most with but two hands and an able heart. Once you open your eyes, its fairly simple to give others something that can make a world of difference, sometimes you just need to be broken in a few places...sometimes you just are required to be a bit crazy.

"See that, you're a dancer after all. Any other dreams you had growing up, miss prima ballerina?" I jested.

"Well...when I was sixteen I wanted to be a cosmetologist?" She was making a slightly more apologetic smirk this time around, and she was slightly pulling away from the hug that had lasted longer then either of us may have envisioned, but then again Gotham isn't about figures and expectations.

"No, not going to happen, alright, I mean you really just go with the ten right away? Like, I wanted to be a pornstar at one point in my life, but that doesn't mean im going to streak down fifth avenue! Just...just...oi. We're going to need bleach, and I might just need a few more drinks afterword's at this rate..." Begrudgingly I trailed off into a whisper as she become as giddy as a kid high off of a box of pixie sticks, overjoyed at the idea that she could have such a chance to live out her dreams on a willing...well, mostly willing...volunteer.

"You're amazing, just letting you know that. Don't worry, i'll take care of everything, I've looked up so much in the last couple years. I can handle everything." The night wasn't as far along as the fall breeze might have let on, but I feared by that point that it would only prove to be even longer of an ordeal to simply reach the morning with my sanity intact, and little by little regret seeped its way into the framework of my mental revision.


	39. Learning Curve

I swear, social justice warriors and sufferers of the so-called "special snowflake syndrome" are so convinced that their is to remain at ends with similarity. But the thing is, you're just as likely to endanger yourself (or others) with difference as you are sameness, although I suppose they define it as being a perpetual one. You choose that path, and you decide to stare down that behemoth, baring its teeth on a darkened day in question and you'll become a meal just as likely as you are to make a martyr out of yourself. Why? Because you had the audacity, the nerve, the gall to think that you were any different a person when it comes down the grand scheme of the cosmos...and the fiends of the great expanse prey on such foolish expectations. Sorry if this bursts anyone's bubble, but mother nature doesn't care about how brave you are, nor does it take you any less or more of a piece of meat destined to its own end just because you received the status of valedictorian at graduation. Time does not waste itself assessing any petty judgment on the beings that inhabit it's realm, it simply allows us the ability of thought in which to make our own thoughts towards the subject, it delivers us all to the same end. So, what on earth does all of this have to do with anything I've been saying to you? It's going to have a great deal of importance in the future, but for now just think of it as the idiotic wanderlust that wills us all to do the damnedest of things for the sake of either making another person happy, or even worse yet...when you are bright enough to just think that the world is a playground to test out every single fantasy for the sake of a new memory or experience.

We had visited a small bodega a few miles from the bar, she still had me properly balanced in one hand while she navigated us through the convenience store while she picked out a few different bottles of cosmetic bleach application and a small selection of color shades for my hair. My mind was escaping me and so the end result of which glob of ungodly solution would be dumped onto my dimwitted head was to remain a complete mystery, most undoubtedly until it would be already far too late to change my mind about my patronage. Adding a small stack of empty calories and fuel for the soul, otherwise known to the rest of the world as a death wish to the kidneys in exchange for a few more hours of cohesive thinking, we plopped two twenty dollar bills on the counter and laughably trounced our way out of the store as the bewildered and surely judgmental clerk looked on. There was a mental note I made at some point between entering the store and leaving where I stated how my stash of money I had withdrawn was now half gone, and part of me mentally was making a sly comment underneath the first one that it had astounded me how far it was managing to stretch. Penelope had looked at me at this moment, most likely because I had rather unintelligibly voiced this comment aloud and that what she had heard sounded less like English and more like a dragon gargling a pint of ice cream. She shrugged off my foolishness and continued to ask me the rest of the way home for more explicit directions seeing as my vocals were shoddy at best, at times asking me to resort to pointing instead. These are the fleeting seconds of fascination where the pharaoh becomes the pariah, for as we walked into the building and began to make headway towards the apartment, she reached into her bag and grabbed a single brownie and one of the small bottles. Daggling them in front of me, my eyes began to focus on the more finite details of the two objects in front of me.

"So...how do you feel about being a blond?" She scoffed, her tongue creeping out ever so slightly to taunt my eagerness to participation. "Oh come on, like I said i'm master at this. And besides, if you behave I'll give you all of the snacks, plus you're sobering up. You'll remember everything."

"Yeah...that's the part i'm afraid of." I said as I gulped loudly before reaching through my pockets for a miniature silver key, a few more seconds as the door to the inside swung open, an incomprehensibly tired Michael in nothing but his underwear and a "I doughnut doughnut t-shirt" sitting at the table to greet us.

"Hey, it's about time your ass showed up, I slaved over a hot glass of spice rum, I even got so bored I tivo'd a marathon of Alf! Oh...shit, I didn't know you brought over company." He nearly jumped out his skin as he leapt from the table and ran into his bedroom to find the first pair of pants he could come across, his form resurfacing a few moments later with a soiled pair of sweatpants, upon seeing Penelope he had strangely enough took a double take and then straightened out his posture. There was this stillness in the air around us, but it was obviously emanating from the two of them, Michael just appeared to be a bit flustered but she on the other hand was utterly horrified at the discovery. A few seconds bleed through and I opened my mouth to speak the very words that should have been self explanatory, but yet bringing it to the surface might just be enough prompting to get some answers.

"Do you two...know each other?" My voice hoarsely inquired.

"Kinda, well, sort of. I'll just be...going to sleep now." It was like his mere presence was an iv drip of social discomfort, completely unlike his usual quota, but yet I interpreted this as a benefit as now she might just forget the connection and we could go about our previous agenda.

My hand gently tapping her on the shoulder, she shuttered for a brief moment before looking towards me with a weakly lit smile. I motioned back over towards the bathroom and then took the bag of miscellaneous paraphernalia with me, grinning as best I could at the absurdity of it all as she at long last followed behind me with a bit more energy in her stride. We settled in and my place sat upon a small chair we had drug in, a small makeshift arrangement of towels wrapped around my head in order to not get bleach on any of my clothes, my best advice that I had been given was that it was in my best interest not to get any of it into my eyes for the sake of blindness. I know, no worries whatsoever, right? A massive dollop of cold liquid hit the crown of my head as she gave me the final warning, and I shall admit there wasn't anything for me to complain about for the first handful of minutes, and in fact from what she told me it didn't seem to be making any difference at all. As she had explained, the bleach itself that we had picked up was supposed to be combined with heat in order to properly activate, so needless to say at this point it was doing about as much as simply dumping a bottle of water on my head. She had also picked up a small pair of purple latex gloves which she then applied to her skin, Penelope began to furiously scrub the surface of my scalp in hopes of producing adequate heat by the static alone, maybe she wasn't lying when she said she was actually conscious during chemistry class. Now this, ladies and gents, is the precise moment where things completely downgraded from slightly weird...to the point of my night ending in basically the most unpleasant way imaginable. Don't believe me? Well, let me just explain to you exactly what it is that happens when a person decides to dye their hair with bleach, for you see there's a scientific reason as to why bleaching causes your hair to go blonde or even white. The bleach itself produces heat, enough heat that it essentially causes third degree burns underneath your scalp, and that is what causes the color change. This wasn't made known to me, I didn't have someone explain to me the possibilities of this sort of thing happening, regardless of having a fearless "expert" taking care of everything. I wouldn't let her know it though, despite my own frustration of the time, it was never much of my nature to take it out on anyone.

"Okay...so you're going to feel a bit of a burn..." Penelope informed.

"Like hell it's a "bit of a burn," its starting to feel like you lit a firecracker off on my head!" I addressed her in a clearly serious tone.

Some people might have famous last words, but for me those were more or less the last words of any suave or smooth energy that I had still been giving off, and by minutes end I was lobbing my dinner into the priceless porcelain tub. My entire face was beginning to sweat, my heart was racing, and every fiber of my being was telling me that every last ounce of that infernal liquid needed to be ridded from my head. The whole experience was beyond words, before it all took place it had felt as though my mind was racing and I was becoming incapable of sitting still, it was like an acute sense of overwhelming paranoia. Michael must have been alerted to the sound of my vomiting, either that or he had been trying to keep an open ear on the two of us this whole time, as the door swung open as I furiously bathed my head under the spout unabated by the scalding temperature. Neither of us responded to Michaels appearance in the doorway, not until I had spent a minute or so convincing myself that I had taken as much of the bleach out as humanly possible, to which I then motioned to her to hand me a towel as he was now laughing at the wet mop that was now glued to my from the moisture. Between the throwing up and the hot flashes I wasn't about to do anything to my hair that required any sort of vigor or sudden movements, if you were me in this situation you'd understand that having an ostentatious color in your hair was one thing, but for it to just fall out in clumps was another thing entirely. I rose from present location with both hands using the side of the tub to support my weight, and quickly dabbed all around the front, back and sides of my hair just to absorb as much of the water as I could. My head now turning to face the mirror and face the inevitable truth, there wasn't much wiggle room for why Michael has dying of uproarious laughter, and why Penelope was currently wincing and showing me the kind of nervous smile you give when you've broken a priceless vase but you're immensely sorry for it.

"You look like you walked into the wrong side of a lemon party..." Michael let escape his lips in the midst of a constant fit of giggling so hard he was crying, not being able to settle down until he stopped looking directly at me.

"I look like a highlighter threw up all over my head..." By now the embarrassment was subsiding and even I was silently trying to joke the situation into oblivion.


	40. Contamination

It was nearly three thirty in the morning, and the night that we had cherished all this time was staging the final hoorah of its livelihood, the putridly obscene yellowish tint that was making a full-scale invasion of my head had given the signal to call it a night. We had gathered our things to brave the cold breeze that was coming in, but before we could manage to actually make our way out of the apartment it was Michael who would give us a final piece of his mind, asking me to wait outside in the hall for a brief moment while he converse with Penelope about something that he didn't feel would be appropriate to discuss amongst others. The tonal similarity in his voice while asking this was no doubt identical to earlier when he had noticed just who I had brought home, part of me was fishing for the possibilities and sifted over maybe that she was a one-night-stand but I shrugged it off easily enough. A soft whistle came sounding out from my softly pursed lips as my eyes closed tightly and comfortably, my back was leaning against a small support beam a few doors down and for the oddest of reasons this was the most ergonomic position I could find, yet even more strange was the fact that I had been whistling at all. Most of my life I had gone by the facts that I could not whistle, nor could I snap my fingers save for my middle finger on my left hand, and that had been just one of those little insofactoids you discover by the time you reach middle school. But now my ability was flowing from me by way of some unspeakable force, and not only was the tune coming out and lulling the air to a full stop in its own warm embrace, but it also made me feel a bit safer. There was a piece of this, and so much more in the last few months of my life, which have made me question my memory and how much I may or may not have been keeping from myself. A somber screech signified the door opening once more and my feminine and cosmetically challenged companion silently trotted her way over to me, seeming more then ready to leave the leave the place behind and go home, but what I hadn't known at that time was that it she was looking to leave behind far more then just my home.

Falling into the streets of Gotham in the early lights of dawn are an experience that most do not get to have, or in the very least if they do they have long since lost the ability to look with both eyes open and on point, the moon and sun at long last together again. When I was young I used to take this time, the only time where I would voluntarily be up at such and early hour mind you, to be collectively with the world itself and just leave the people behind. Much like with my time spent listening through the water at the bottom of my swimming pool, but now I sat amongst the skies with another who might just have been as lucky to be here as I was, and that had made all of the difference. Her eyes never would leave mine or the sky's for more than a few seconds, and we joked and laughed all the while as we walked back to what had presumably been her home, a small gated home that had appeared to have had more touch up work then an a-list celebrity's face and a front screen door that I swear was hanging on by a diligent piece of masking tape. A single window lit up as we continued to speak, the occupant angrily screaming at us in Spanish to be quiet, which made us rethink of tone of voice to a mild whisper as I motioned to her with one tilt of the head that it would be best for her to head on inside. She smirked at me cheekily and nodded her head in agreement, for some reason or other I thought it would be superb to make this weird waving motion with a flexed hand and mouth the words "bye" a few times. It looked as though she would end up making a b-line to the door without a formal farewell, which at this point wasn't entirely needed but she still managed to surprise me for the better, as she turned to face me one last time that night as such made it to the entrance.

"I just want to say thanks...for tonight, it's been a long time since I've had a night like this. I...I don't know what to say..." She mutedly spoke over the wind that had been blowing her hair to and froe, and it had been so soft, but in no way would it be considered as a weak voice. Much like she herself, if you were foolish enough to see her in a state of burden and believe that the cracks were weakness, then you mustn't understand what it truly means to survive hell and actually have a story within yourself to tell. We just don't all feel the need to be the authors.

"...and there's nothing that you have to. Just get some sleep, alright?" I proclaimed calmly.

"Yeah...and i'm sorry about the hair, if you want to you can shave it off and get rid of it...?" She reassured me.

"Oh, don't worry, but thanks. Now I can shave it off and not have to hide it so I don't hurt your feelings." I caringly harassed as she soon met my remark with a feigned annoyance as she entered the house and left my sight, my next venture being to walk up until the first open patch of grass or bench I could find and then promptly turn to jello in its embrace. That is, it would have been the restful endgame of the situation if not for the fact that thirty seconds after finding said comfort, the vibration of my phone against my leg stirred me back into full attention. Trust me boys and girls, i'm not shitting you here, there had barely been enough time to let out a sigh or two or close my eyes and fall asleep deeply enough so that I could claim that I didn't hear it go off. At first I tried to convince myself that it wasn't my phone that was ringing in the first place, but im guessing you should know that im not that idiotic to actually believe that, my hand instinctively reaching for my left pants pocket but only to feel nothing there. _Fuck...wrong phone...it's a good thing im not that lazy. _I thought to myself before grumbling some more under my breath and retrieving the other cell phone I had in my possession from my other pocket, a small notification box coming up on the screen that informed me that a new message was waiting for me. Now, seeing as this was essentially a sketchy as fuck burner phone which I had garnered for the low-low price of twenty dollars and I had only one contact on said phone, my curiosity had gotten the better of me and I pushed the small "view" button to see just what the commissioner had wanted.

_Can you make it to 36 West Highland Street, at 9am this morning? I've got some new leads that you might like to see...plus another body has surfaced. _

"Sigh...I hate being an adult..." I bickered for a few seconds before sending a reply that I would, in fact, be there at the specified time to meet him.

There is a great common error in society, which leaves us believing in the notion that we are this end all be all source of the purest of truths, and yet it would a far more suitable answer to the curious that we are instead the most diluted. People aren't afraid that things are going to change, they're afraid that things are going to keep changing. You see, if something changes we have time enough to circumvent it or adapt to it based on whether or not we're pleased by the outcome of said change, or at least that is what we would like to think. Most of the time the truth is that we are mere ships floating about on the high seas, and there may just be a bout of rough winds or a high tide, but nevertheless we are at the mercy of the world around us. We boast ourselves on such a high pedestal because we have cured diseases and sent a man up to space but, we still to this day aren't without the same worries that made us strive for such achievements in the first place, we are doing little more then running around in a vein attempt to forget it all. You cant just expect us all to know any better, I suppose, not when we are already so imbued with prejudice that slavery existed until two hundred years ago and religious doctrine still brainwash the majority of society into compliance. I never wished to find myself having to take a side in the fight against or even for religion, whether it was all in my head or not is completely beside the point, but lets just say that I have a few qualms with the beliefs that some all-knowing deity is responsible for my life's choices. Either he doesn't exist, or he is the one of the most vile holders of any real and substantial amount of power in the world, and even the symbols of his supposed "grace" will my blood to boil. I never wanted to marry, nor did I shy away from telling people that when they approached me with interest in being my next partner between the sheets, although it can be said that they weren't too upset due to my age. When you're young and in love, or at least that's what I think we all were feeling, we tend to exacerbate the best of people and make it so we are setting up a future that banks on a change in the wind. Hopeful, albeit hopefully naive, we try as best we can to make the pictures in our heads that we heavily and altruistically photo-shopped onto our future match with the unbiased face of the present. I'm sorry, I know that this might not be more then just a rude detour as I recollect on my feet scraping against the rough pavement and eventually the even grittier sidewalk of the upper west side of Gotham, but there are just some feelings best left to be carried away in the morning breeze.

There's another story I wanted to share with you while I still have the inspiration enough to tell it, and it might not reflect very nicely of my own behavior or conduct, but there has been a fair amount of time since I first started with this tangentially fruitful monologue that I have the faith to hope for understanding. At some point after my hearing the news of my mothers marriage to Melvin, you might have suspected a full scale riot or even a protest fueled by adolescent rage, but the truth was that there had been little fuss made by me about the whole incident. Surely, trust in the fact that this was not due to my lack of caring but something more along the lines of a self permeating shock to the system that left me scrambling for any sense of direction of what I was supposed to do, and so I sat by as the event drew ever closer and I had actually been selected to be the best man. Maybe it was an honor given to me because I had been so understanding and hadn't made a scene, but the fireworks hadn't come until the day of, when the situation had culminated with my recently becoming single and what I knew would be the premature loss of a close friend. The whole shindig was actually well-funded for a couple who had apparently been strapped for cash, but then again it was never made known to me until I had made it there that day that they had made the occasion not just a wedding...no, but instead it would be a bastardization which would scuff the name of my father into the ground. Melvin had received funding from the precinct where my father and he himself had both worked and enough people had been grieving for the two of them to hold the event, not to mention all of the donations and contributions which had been labeled as being "what he would have wanted," but then it took a step too far just before the ceremony when he had asked me say a few words. Again...being what my late father would have wanted...but this time around there was something inside of me snapped.

_(You wouldn't believe this...but when I first met your mother..._

_Watashi wa futatabi anata o ushinau kanto, koko de watashi o nokoshi ikenaishite kudasai..._

_we were high school sweethearts, not a day goes by that I don't feel that same love..._

Watashi wa nantoka, nanrakano hōhō, chōdo watashitoisshoni taizai... Anata o sukuimasu...

_I don't regret what I've done, without it I would have never had made you, Brian..._

_Watashi wa watashi ga... Mada soko..._

_you have no idea, just...just how proud you make me, son. Every, single day of my life..._

_I know what it's like to find yourself being the butt of peoples jokes, taking things..._

_you cant just hope for survival, I can see it in your eyes, you're a survivor, a fighter..._

_Anata o kanjiru koto ga dekiru, sore ga sa rete iru dono kurai no jikan ni kankei naku, haigo ni anata o nokoshite inai katamukemasu..._

_Don't let anyone...make you into a joke, I love you, son. Just don't forget who you are...)_


	41. Morticia

The aroma of disinfectant and the sterile mist of the souls who had lingered here in their last moments amongst the living hung heavily on the air, and the faces of those bravely and emotionally disinterested enough to remain greeted me with expressions like that of an endless void. A clock mounted onto the far wall read that I was fifteen minutes early for my appointment with the commissioner, and that now all that was left for me to do was stand around uncomfortably with the suits and ties batting as many eyes as they could spare. Five minutes in the wait, my form fairly gracefully sauntered over towards one desk in particular where a middle aged woman was manning her post and catering to a bevvy to phone calls that had been made within my time there, as soon as she hung up the phone her eyes diverted from her task and were added to the rest of the nameless ravel who became fixated on my attire. Perhaps something a bit more flowy and breathable would have suited the situation a bit more, seeing as not only was I garnering the attention and many a comment could be inaudibly heard in the distance, but my cape was also producing a great deal of heat as well. Maybe not producing it, per say, but more or less that it was of a fabric that would encapsulate ones own body heat so as to serve more then one purpose. I, however, was just not in the mood nor the occasion to offer a sense of appreciation for it or the "devil may care" attitude that Gordon had been demonstration towards his appointments.

It wasn't all bad, but most would not be so quickly able to deduce how it feels to start sweating like you were in a triple digit climate in the middle of an office building and yet still have the requirement that you held an once of integrity, so naturally when the front door swung open with a minute to spare and James cast a weak smile my way I had done little more then jump out of the seat that has almost been stuck to me with the heat. With the man of the hour now present as my quosai chaperone, the receptionist from before now was a bit less leery of my appearance, and in fact had even made a condescending set of eyes at the former police official. It was as if she had been genuinely surprised by the way in which I had simply walked in the front door, but yet she had subconsciously told herself that she really should have suspected that I was waiting for him. I suppose after the bat had become such a prominent figure, and his role being so vital to the ever growing support for the efficiency of the late mayor and his surly bunch in blue, the two of them had become nearly inseparable to media...and some had even claimed that they saw each other as friends. Such bravado, laced with a level of candor and hospitable camaraderie as they combatted the elements of both the physical and the psychological, there would be only a select few who would be vain enough to believe that wouldn't change you irrevocably in the end. But yet times tend the shift the scales from the modest to the morose and the meek and malignant, and those who are just as blinded in the perception that nothing could change by the altercation of the seasons end would see first had how the bonds wither.

"Sorry to keep you waiting...just had some things to gather first, hopefully Marcy kept you company." He poised with a tinge of humility while referring to the receptionist, a hearty and gruff laughter being the response on my end as my head shook and we began to walk down an expansively narrow hallway in front of us. "Both bodies have already been exhumed, but Im still on good enough terms to get a few moments for us to look at them ourselves, the how and the when i'll let her tell you but...the who might shock you. The second body belongs to a Daniel Kurtz."

There were nearly a dozen reasons for why any one name could become infamous in a place like this, as such as the ethically inept and mischievously ambitious would have you know, but even now the idea of idolization still remained relevant with the local handful of quote en quote celebrities. And amongst the throng of endorsement drones and self-entitled misogynists who were far from the talented and resourceful roots of their parents, one name known fairly well to the majority of Gotham over the last year was dear Daniel. His key to maintaining such a permeating relevance? The Gotham Gladiators had been the first sports affiliate to actually manage to hold any water in the standings, and had even appeared well on their way to winning the title, so lets just say that it was rather unfortunate when Kurtz had his public image smeared by unwanted attention. The press would often try and give a million different sides of the story, what they would claim was a mere attempt at telling each side of the tale, but the facts were that a young woman had claimed that he had sexually assaulted her while out celebrating after a game. At this time he was living in his penthouse, just as he had before anyone had known any better, and it was all thanks to the coaches and affiliates who had delved far too deeply with their income to allow their star player to see jail time. A matter of a few tens of thousands of dollars waved in front of the faces of this deeply troubled and fractured young woman's family had silenced them indefinitely, a small piece of legislation prohibiting them from ever bringing the allegations back to any court.

"Are you thinking that she has something to do with this...?" I posed openly, not wanting to make any inferences needlessly.

"We cant be sure of anything yet, but I haven't seen the body yet, we're...going in to a morgue to look at a dead body. I'm just asking you this now so that you are okay with what you're getting yourself into, but you are sure, aren't you?" He was waivering back and forth with his eyes and his tone, almost like a son leaving for his first day of school, and despite the fabrics and eyewear he could tell well enough that I was still young.

"Thinking it was a mistake dragging me into this after the masquerade, are you?" I questioned him as we reached the end of the hall of doors, he had patiently placed his right hand on the handle and was halfway to opening it and ushering in a new threshold of civil disobedience and police interference. "I'm fine commissioner, it'll be fun, and besides...even at my age, its no different than biology class. Lets find ourselves a murderer."

Welcoming and ergonomic wouldn't have been any sensible choice of words for the room we would enter just then, the vast expanse had been mostly taken up by empty space and a few cots and a single cold-steel platform which I had guessed was where they would leave the body while examining it. The walls were lined on all sides with mounted wall storage space that had a monochrome steel handle, enough crime dramas had given me the sort of pseudo education enough to know that they were where the bodies were being kept, and once again I was going to be face to face with death. Its bizarrely refreshing, it all came sinking in at that moment that I would be witnessing a callous and disturbing site that wasn't meant for people like me, not for the eyes of very many at all. But yet, this wasn't my first tea part with the grim reapers most recent additions to the guest list, and the shivers from the mental taxation were flaking off long before this moment. Gordon smiled at a middle aged woman who had wearing a very bland set of scrubs in a mundane purple, her somewhat wrinkled face showcasing an even stronger light as she matched suit and the two of them began to chatter for a few minutes. It was something that I had anticipated at first, that James would not be a man for sitting idly by in a time of fatalistic misanthropy, but the sheer scope of the respect that he had working towards his efforts continued to amuse me...much less a man who have ended up dead in the east river. After the pleasantries were taken care of, she led the two of us over to drawer by the far side of the room, and with a steady hand extended it outward to its fullest ability and gave us our first look at the former superstar who now looked about as lifeless as he did in those god-awful Pepsi commercials. I'm sorry, but the Pepsi doesn't make you become less of an asshole by drinking it.

"Ligature marks around the neck indicate that strangulation was the cause of death, however, the interesting part comes further down." She explained as she slowly pulled the soft sheet off of the uninhabited person in question and we soon were treated to the site of what was...or rather no longer was between his legs. "His penis was cut off, it's hard to say if it happened pre or post mortem, but the striations on the remaining flesh indicate it wasn't done cleanly. Whoever the attacker was, this was personal."

"So...were looking for an inexperienced rabbi?" I mused at her, casting a wry grin her as I drummed up another question, this time taking things seriously. "I'm sorry, but I never caught your name?"

"Bethany, Bethany Marane. And sorry to disappoint, but there's one more main piece to this, do you always take police work when you aren't haunting an opera house?" A good comeback, and one that was almost old enough to go over my head as she proceeded to turn the body over, where we would soon bare witness to a large series of gauges and slice marks going all the way up and then back down the victims back. "It's in the shape of an "a," not sure if that means anything to either of you. It was the only other clue on the body besides the small napkin I've already sent you."

"The same one as at the scene of the jewelry robbery?" I said aloud to myself, trying to make sense of the pieces, but also locking eyes with Gordon in expectation of a definitive motion either way...and his slight nod a few seconds later was enough to know that someone was starting a body count. "Okay, so we have a dirty undercover cop who was spying on the mob, and a star basketball player with an obese little black book. And absolutely none of that connects together at all."

"Jessica Keel was her name, the woman who was trying to press charges against Kurtz. It might be jumping to conclusions, but she is the best lead we have at the moment, regardless of how she might be connected to the jewelry store or the first body. Do you fit inside cars, or would you prefer to fly your way there?" He was spewing those words with a more ambient enthusiasm of which I had not seen, nor even expected from a man of his pedigree, and for the first time it had felt that the two of us were on the same page about doing this with a dash of lighthearted banter.


	42. Porcelain

For a higher up who would spend his nights producing a salary that was enough to make even some median level Falconie frontrunner flustered, James had not deemed it prudent to set some of that money aside for a new car, as his current ride was a rather underwhelming Prius which was probably about as old as I was. None the less, it performed admirably in its most basic of tasks and sputtered momentarily before taking us both on the road to our first and only lead, and in the milliseconds that came by as we were in transit I could distinctly imagine the absurdity that was in motion as my cape was right beneath my feet. Operation outside of the jurisdiction of a corrupt and misappropriated civil service and trailing after a criminal for the pure thrill of the chase and the desire for answers, or at least that was my angle at the moment, as Gordon on the other hand had still not divulged the lot of motivations that had made him choose me to be at his side. We were two men who were driving aimlessly towards a goal that had little purpose besides to lynch our curiosities and keep a dangerous murderer off the streets, but the ride was becoming a bit long for my liking and my attention had began to drift here and there and everywhere in the car. When it became obvious that the vehicle would make little difference it would be my mind that would go next, and once again it would be nearly impossible for me to remain there in that time and place, a very delicate and heartwarming voice felt as if it were lulling the words directly into my ear canal. It wouldn't be accurate to describe it as something I enjoyed, or even that I had needed to bring me a sense of release and peace of mind, but there was a very haunting sequence of images that would begin to play overtop of the voice as it became louder and echoed as if it were being uttered from a million other people at the same time.

_"You don't know it yet...but I see something in you...something that doesn't let me give up hope that you'll date me just yet."_

_"I can be a very stubborn person...it might take years...even millennia."_

_"Hmmm, well, I don't exactly planning on dyeing until im at least eleventy one years old. So you might be stuck in a post-apocalyptic wasteland with nothing but cockroaches and a Lilly who still wants a chance."_

So it might just be me as an outcast in feeling this way but I always felt that being on the road was the perfect time to think over things in a bit more detail, now that might make me the worst driver ever next to the guy who never goes a mile over thirty five on the expressway, but there are some risks we need to take. Have you ever just found yourself with this resounding sensation of disappointment? Now, maybe it can be towards others you care for but im talking about that piercing sting in your gut that is there simply to tell you that you are disappointed in yourself, and you can try to superglue the broken opportunities back into place but they do not make an adhesive strong enough to deal with regret. Theres a lie that i once believed, that i was once a better version of myself, and that there was a most deadly poison inching itself into my being. One problem with that though, is that time has its own way of adding clarity, and perhaps i wasnt a better man...perhaps i simply wore a better mask. Companionship is something often referred to as the only thing you'll ever need in this life but yet far more often then not people are left stranded in the seas at high tide when their loves are crashing against the harsh coastline, and ever the more heart wrenching may just be that they might have only fueled a love on qualities they saw, but yet never truly existed. She had been the farthest thing from a damsel needing saving, whether it was from the world around her or her own often discombobulating choices, and she spent all that time campaigning for the sanctity of my soul just to find a matt undercoat of grey. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I was shambling around in costume because there was a face underneath the mask that so few understood at its darkest depths...no one save for a madwoman who i'm not even entirely sure isn't simply wishing to use me as a walking dildo. But then again, she would smile at the very mention of my name, the first sight of my face in a mask or not. There was some selflessness in it's creation, and yet it could have been debated that the thrill would be enough to cast my temptation as the same lust that made her swoon my way, but it was something in a pool of emotivism that was nearly running dry.

"Hey, stay focused, we don't know whether or not we'll have any company." James remarked after lightly tapping me on the shoulder, a soft shudder as I walked off the listlessness and out of body cognitive euphoria and the two of us made our way into the rugged boarding house.

"I should be saying the same to you, commissioner. She most likely wont be happy to have company, especially given your reputation." I roughly replied as we boarded a nearby elevator and the doors enclosed themselves around us both. "So what cover are we going to go with? Girl scouts?" One low hum all the way to the sixth floor, a soft tone as the dimly lit panels of the elevator alerted us of our approach each step of the way, and that final ding ringing out as the row of autonomous doors sat before us.

"If my sources are correct, she should be in apartment E-12." He exclaimed as we made our way about one third of the way down the hall and very shorty found ourselves outside of that very same room, the metallic number piece a slightly rustic tan and tope and looked as if it would fall off its moorings if we knocked on the door too furiously. A single series of three knocks came courtesy of Gordon's right hand and was met with nothing but a suffocating silence, followed by rhe drowned out ambient noise that would come every now and then from the residents of the adjacent duplexes. Once more it came, but this time instead of the dull lack thereof was replaced with a soft creak as the door inched itself open by a matter of centimeters, at which point I felt my fingers inwards around the opening and pulled it the rest of way so the two of us could get a better look at the inside.

"It's not technically breaking and entering if you haven't broken anything, besides, we haven't even entered. Its more like we're...concerned neighbors, we might even get a medal, earn ourselves a key to the city, meet Vanna White."

Not entirely certain where the line was crossed in the mix of that senseless ramble of mine, but Gordon was the first to slink into the doorway as quietly as he could manage, at times moving and looking down at the doorway as if a vampiric creature of the night waiting for a greeting to validate his entrance. The place was in shambles: Garbage was scattered all throughout the floor and there looked to be at least three chairs turned over in an apparent sign of a recent struggle, even more perplexing was that on the right side of the apartments end a fairly weight-baring window was left wide open and the curtain was flowing wildly from the outside breeze wafting in. My first instinct had been to run at full speed towards the cold draft coming in and look down at the streets below, my body roughly landing on the windowsill and nearly half of it soon contorted itself into an unnatural curvature to get a decent view of the pavement. There would be no mistake, it was a long way down from the flat to the macadam and that without something short of a miracle there would be no survival from a fall of that magnitude, but yet the ground beneath was clean, undisturbed, and still held the crazed hustle and bustle that Gotham held as per the norm. In this type of operation, the tiniest of shortcomings and the most seemingly unrelated details might just turn out to make or break the levy, and be where you prove your worth or get yourself killed for lack of vision. It may have been my own handicapped and biased mind which had drew me over towards the window, but yet from my angle I had the high ground to realize that the very door we had left came in through had since been shut behind us. My lips began to mouth the words but before I could manage to make the sounds to accompany them a slender figure had come from out of the darkness and as if out of nowhere and struck Gordon upside the head, not enough to make him loose consciousness, but enough to give him a headache he wouldn't soon forget.

"What...what the fuck are you doing in my house?! No...no...yo-you know what, I don't want to hear it! You're probably cops, you finally have something against me and you're going to send me to prison! As if...as if I was the monster." She was hyperventilating and the miniature-esque handgun in her possession was wavering manically over the heads of both myself and the recovering James, who knew better then to do anything more then regain his footing at half of a snails pace, lest she get any ideas.

"We...we don't want anyone to get hurt, okay? Listen to me, we just wanted to ask a few questions, get your side of the story, that's all!" One step towards her and the gun was trained my abdomen, obviously she knew that it would just be easiest to seek out the bodies largest and most vulnerable spot and fire away, but she was relenting and so for the moment so would I. She was just shy of five feet tall, a pale brunette hair color that was nearly buzzed down to the scalp on one side, where as the other side was growing at neck length, and her voice which had been screaming at us to maintain our distance was becoming raspy the more she did so...and there was a tinge of something in the laboring speech that made me believe she was fighting back tears all the while.

"Shut up! You didn't want to listen to me the first time! Why should I fucking want t-to talk now! I'm glad he's dead, and i'm glad that i'm the reason!" Now the tears were coming and she was using the front of her knuckles as best she could to wipe away the salty moisture away from just under her eyelids while still gripping unto the handle for dear life, I took this moment of hesitation to make one and only one more pace towards her, both of my arms held up as highly as I could to try and assure her that I had little on me with which to deceive or harm her.

"Someone I loved more dearly...and that I was closer to then anyone else...in my entire life dead right in front of me. And when it happened, everyone said after awhile that it was just too painful to keep reliving, and it would just be best for the rest of us if we all just went on with our lives. First it was just not mentioning what happened, and then it was mentioning his name, and soon enough they didn't even have enough nerve to keep pictures of them up at home anymore. They...they acted as if I was the one causing problems by not just going along with it all, and after awhile I wanted nothing more then to set fire to the world and watch the lot of them burn to the ground in agony for what they had done. But...but there's another way. I'm not a cop, as you might have been able to deduce by my clothing, and him? He's an ex-cop who is risking his own freedom by disobeying and interfering with their own investigations to know the truth. So the way I see it, you have two options, my dear: either put the gun down, and we can discuss this like civilized people, or you use that gun and take your chances with the same people who payed you to keep quite so a rapist could make a three-pointer. It's your choice." My hands extended outward and she shakily handed over the gun to me, my first order of business being to open the chamber and empty it all of all bullets, and much to my relief and dismay it had been fully loaded...and if my negotiations hadn't worked out we would have been fending for ourselves against a battered woman who was armed with five rounds at her disposal. Once the bullets were resting safely on the ground and scattered about I offered my hand to her once more, this time she came into my form at full force and began to rest her face against my chest and began to shudder as she let out the soft sobs that any person who had let so much settle for so long would make, my own chest reading the rhythm of her own as it slowly crested and then returned to normal.


	43. Sleeping Sickness

"The officers on the scene after us found this among some of her things in the apartment..." Gordon spoke as he was obviously trying to go somewhere else with his sentence, yet the direction was surely lacking and so he simply trailed off as a small piece of blank paper was shown in plain view of my eyesight. In fact it was more then a blank piece of paper, it was a blank business card, and the only sign of any kind of markings came from a barely legible phone number on the far right corner and the faint impression of black lipstick on its backing.

"I'm starting to see a pattern here..." I said mostly to myself as I looked away from the commissioner and took notice of the dozen officers who were only now vacating the premises, making sure to take the frail form of the young Jessica with them in a squad car, although it was made evident by their behavior that they were treating her as a suspect. "They'll implicate her..."

"It's common in Gotham, going back all the way to my first case detailing one night and stumbled across the bodies of Thomas and Martha Wayne. You wouldn't believe the amount of people, my partner included, who had told me to just arrest someone and be done with the case to avoid paperwork. The amount of red tape that was in place, sure it would have given me some homework, but Id like to have thought it would have been better then having to explain to someone that they had been arrested to life in prison because I wanted to get to dinner on time. It didn't matter how many red flags were coming up, or how many people were there to gain from the way things were going, some answers are just too much to unearth. You either play along or you end up in the east river." He said as he calmly tapped my right shoulder with his left hand and smiled at me weakly. "You have to learn when to fight and when to regroup."

The very last squad-car had motored off into the distance and out of our reach, leaving the two of us both in a state of relief that we had still been undisturbed in our exploits, and with a great deal to dwell on as the day waned into obscurity. We had a jewelry thief who had somehow been involving herself in the murders of two completely unrelated persons of some note, and I mean it could have also been a man by all rights, however there was something about the shade that made me think it wasn't a man's color. Well, either that or there was a transvestite in mourning who was racking up a body count in his spare time, but that was pushed into the maybe pile for the time being. It was the easiest solution to name Jessica as the murderer, but there had been something in her eyes that I could sense and feel, and nothing about it gave me the impression that she was a murderer...no matter how much she may have wished to be. A foul smell wafted up from behind the two of us and collided with my nasal passages, packing a punch but more then anything it was just burning its way through to my brain an inch at a time, almost like if you were to get a taste of someone who hadn't bathed in months and then religiously ate a cornucopia of relish, curry, and garlic. The guttural anonymity in my voice hadn't been as thick as it had been before, my guard slowly being skirted away in Gordon's promise of safety, but as I had opened my mouth to speak in a bit of an intermediate tone a more nasally acute voice rung out to interrupt me. From the scent alone it shouldn't have been difficult to place it, but with that set of pipes that even a prepubescent choir boy could rival in masculinity, I knew it to be none other then my stepfather Melvin.

"You know, I have been hearing so much about all of the hard work you've been putting in, but it's not welcomed. I don't know if you don't realize this, but you were fired for a reason, and I mean I could hold you in contempt and have you arrested for disturbing a police investigation...but that wouldn't stop you, would it? No, of course not, not the impeccable James Gordon, he's a vain son of a bitch."

"I have proof that the bank robbery and the murders of both Daniel Kurtz and Blake Landis are connected somehow, and I intend to see it through to the end, badge or not. You want to place me into a cell, be my guest, but try explaining to the people in this city why the only honest cop left was arrested for trying to do for free the job that we have hundreds of others on payroll for!" He barked, inches away from Melvin's face and I swear that I could actually see spit flying in midair as he rounded off the last and most aggressive of pronunciations, a shrill laugh came from his former employer in response.

"It wouldn't hold up anyway, I suppose, not unless I had something really sound, right? Well, I've seen the pieces you've been sending for toxicology, and its pretty weird that you are the only one who seems to be able to find them to begin with. Oh, how I can see the newspaper taglines now." He clamored as he held his balled hand against his lips and half convincingly cleared his throat. "Former war hero and beloved former commissioner caught falsifying evidence, but maybe it's not so much of a stretch for the man who spent three years consulting with a guy in a fucking bat costume. I mean, first you went and lost your wife, and now it's your job? I'm sure that you would do anything to get her and your job back, right? Maybe you planted the evidence, make a whole new threat that only the great James Gordon can defeat."

"He wasn't alone...I saw the evidence myself, in fact you could have helped us out with it, if you actually remembered to get out of bed in the morning without a mustard stain on your tie." I spoke up as I arose from my place off to the side of their attention and now was staring through my mask and intensely hoping for the chance to deck him into the nearest piece of concrete, he couldn't distinguish anything from my face underneath the mask, but my comments had caused him to do a double take as he realized that I had noticed the stain on his slab of silk before he did. "Or have you been the one who has been leaving breadcrumbs in the wake of chaos?"

"Who asked you, quasi-fucking-motto?"

His left hand was reaching for something on the side of his belt, most likely his gun or maybe a pair of handcuffs as I could catch them just out of the corner of my eye as the light reflected off their metallic coating. But what he hadn't known was that I had made a note of it long before he had even entertained the idea, and there was the slightest chance that he had made two and two come together and recognized my garb from the incident at the mall, and unfortunately for my sake that was something he could hold me for. Most would become skittish at the thought of such a thing, but then again a guilty man would give away his truth and be easily figured out, the most successful of deceits are those which stay just beneath the surface and under ones nose. My arms remained retained against my chest to implicate myself as being nonthreatening, but surely enough he was inching closer to his belt as I contemplated the options and my counterpart was taking in the scenery as he was hoping to detract his attention away from me. Melvin hadn't taken notice but for a split second I motioned silently over to Gordon, and a coy smirk was shining through as he mutely mouthed the words something along the lines of "what or "huh?" A full exhale sounded and escaped my lips as I panned back to the tarnished and dingy public official. There's a well understood concept amongst the more or less disreputable members of society, and that is that the most important lesson of properly engaging an opponent is to study them at length, and above all else you must make them focus on what the left hand is doing while planning your tactics with the right. My hands contorted in on themselves in a tight vice-grip, and as soon as I could be certain that he grubby fingers had found their way to the handcuffs, the swift air between point a and point b were cut razor thin as in a matter of moments my fist connected with his temple...and as he fell back in recoil I swooped in and grabbed his ratty ponytail in one hand and sent him face first into a nearby wall.

"What...what have you done? You think this is going to help us, at all! You've...you've just removed any chance of us getting any creditability!" He was fuming and his arms were flailing about more then I've seen of any man, even considering the Italian relatives of mine who had more then lived up to their painfully cliché mannerisms, the air was becoming thick and my face now was held to a deathly state of indifference.

_What is it? What is it that every single time...that I try...to just talk to you, you act as if im dead to you!_

_I'm not angry with you, I just don't care...you just aren't the same person I thought you were._

My eyes became fixated on my own two hands, where a small blot of blood has stained my gloves, it wasn't enough to make me worry for the mans safety but enough to know that he would remember what I had done. It had hardly even been my own decision, as it came into my mind it had seemed as harmless a desire as all of those disgruntled employees imagining the demise of their ungrateful superior would tell you. But now my split knee-jerk reaction had become the reality staring me in the face, and as the rising of my chest was less of steady breathing and now of a hushed wheezing, I allowed my sense of fight or flight go with the former and take off into streets around me...my beyond dormant skills with parkour sent me leaping over what stood in my way. My mind wasn't paying attention to where I was going, and even in my past experiences I had never been more than an amateur, as it would be made apparent as I found myself finally out of the sight of the light of day yet falling down a small set of stone stairs. Between my spinal column throbbing as I rode down the six or seven stairs on my backbone, and the gravel surface of such scraping against my skin and tearing into it enough to leave a small trace of my own, I curled over onto my side and got as far as holding myself up upon my knees. A garbage bag had been laying on the ground amongst a pile of loose trash, and once the smallest amount of composure had returned to me I removed the most discernable parts of my costume and tossed them into the bag, at the moment I wasn't in the mood to play hero anymore.

**End of Act III**


	44. Thicker than Water

(November 17th, Esperanza Museum and Art Gallery, 2:00PM)

The game of chess has long been revered by many as an ultimate test of wit and mental dexterity, a small tribute to showing just who was prepared to face the tasks at hand in the practice of absolute power, but in more civilized society it has been seen as a tell of who somebody truly is. Some may even go as far to say that such a display could tell you anything you would ever need to know, whether your opponent is friend or foe, and what chances you hold should they go from one state of being to another. Or perhaps a game of chance, or even a bit of slight of hand could be enough for those diligent enough in the art of deception to get all that they need to know and more about anyone and everyone? But if you wanted to understand the truest form of understanding between a pair of individuals, there would be little to be seen as superior to the bond of a mother and her child, and the self-resonating level of trust that is established in such a link. Some would even venture a guess that the attachment would at times resemble near precognition, like being able to tell which foods were their favorite based on simple preferences and notably identifying certain things in their day to day that would have them up in arms, and for some this would be so easy due to the piece of themselves that was shining through their offspring. But not all are so lucky to have the intimacy with which they can tell their parents everything, or rather they find it impossible to do so, and in some instances the truth is the poison that would serve to permanently sever the closeness they once had. Victor Velazquez was one such man. His mother had worked three jobs to help pay the bills and put food onto the table, all the while allowing him to stay a child and never once asked that he get a job to lessen the load in her favor, but he would almost always cut corners around her musings. He would run about with friends from their old stomping grounds of San Juan, and for the most part they were children raised in the same situation as him, so lets just say that they would offer him employment opportunities on the side that weren't exactly on the level.

She used to light a candle for him each and every time he would leave the house, considering the fact that their new home in the states hadn't been much safer then across the border, but she had hoped that her religion and guidance would be enough to steer him away from harm. That being said, however, belief may be seen as the strongest thing in the next life...but there is only so much that hope can do for us in this life. She had spent so much time worried sick for the safety of Victor and his brother, Marcus, as not only had it bothered her but the same line of work with drug smuggling and illegal weapons exports had given her husband an early burial place in the middle of the desert. A single bullet put between his eyes after his employers had determined that he had known far too much about operations for things to continue to run smoothly, and ironically enough the federal government had become involved months later due to a mole within their organization, the same man who had him killed to try and solidify that the fears had subsided. Selma had not failed to learn a valuable lesson from her heartache, and that had been both the simple-minded nature of the men who had dabbled in the trade for the sake of riches and lived far too largely for large amounts of them to go very far, but also just how strong the lure of such wealth with such ease was. Despite the climate, disregarding the harshness of the lifestyle that came with it, people would still become trapped in a never-ending cycle of self destructive behaviors as they clung on for dear life and a sense of control until the bitter end. She couldn't allow that to take a hold onto her two sons, her prideful pieces who had not yet made the decision of where their lives would take them, but as it has already been said the greed and need for power and status knows no jurisdiction...and slowly but surely she began to lose her sons to the same craft.

Perhaps, everything that had brought together the stars in the sky above in such a way that things aligned just right, was nothing more then a coincidence? A simple enough thing to say, as she exited the pale yellow taxi cab and looked ahead of her towards the towering and extraneously decorative building that stood before her, an art gallery which had been the meeting place her for first born and herself to go over the recent tragedy that had befallen them. On either side of the entrance doors there was a well poised and expertly sculpted gargoyle which had kept her at her present location for a few moments, before she swallowed deeply and began at a steady pace to the doors, the demonic snarl at their faces casting the impression of a pair of fierce guardians at the ready. More then morbidly appropriate, considering the fact that Esperanza had long been known as a place that was the beacon for crime in all of Gotham, as it proudly demonstrated the power of which the gangs had shown over all critical aspects of life itself: safety of body, safety of mind, and safety of choice. Wherever you went, whatever you did, whatever you chose to do with your time here, you would inexplicably find yourself smack dab in the middle of their turf, and between the stolen pieces of artwork and finely crafted porcelain paid for in full by blood stained bills...there was no such thing as solace.

"Mama, how are you feeling? Have you gotten enough sleep?" Her son asked with a warm and inviting smile, extending his arms and body forward as he fully expected a coddling embrace, although she simply looked at him coldly and crossed her arms just beneath her chest.

"Por qué insistes en hablar en Inglés ?"

"Because Mama, the times are changing, and if we cannot change with them, then we wont be able to last out here." He collected himself and felt as if he had very quickly became the mediator between his mother and his own opinions on how he had started things, a feeling that he had often bore when she was around.

"Y quién te dijo que esto es donde se propuso pasar su vida ?"

"Is isn't enough to just survive, it's about making something of yourself while you are still here, and before you are stuck underneath the ground with the cockroaches. You taught me that, Madre."

"Y qué te digo acerca de la familia ? Acerca de mantenernos seguros por encima de todo ! Su hermano entiende que gran parte..."

"That is the only reason I stay here, and do what I do, do you think that hasn't effected me too? I pray for him, but as you also taught me, god works in mysterious ways. Maybe there are some things that god needs us to do for ourselves, hah?"

"Me niego a hablar ... como lo hace ... porque todo lo que hace es mostrarme lo lejos que han caído. Desde el hijo que me crié, te dije que actuar con el corazón, y en su lugar he, envenenando con el dinero y las drogas. Ha llegado incluso a verlo?"

"I've...been busy." He mutedly whispered back at her, not having much of an answer for her, the same smirk of confidence and self assurance now dissipated into a blank and listless stare.

"You are not my son." There was plenty of tension between the two of them all the while this exchange had run its course, but not a lick of anger had escaped her lips as did those five words, it wouldn't be quite the way of dictating just how she had felt in this case. Pick the wrong emotion and risk not being blunt enough to drive the point home, and the other person just cant be helped, and as he solemnly shut his eyes in a relaxed fashion and held his head at half mast it was just as obvious that he had taken as anger what truly was...disappointment.


	45. Due Date

_(November 18th, Gotham Memorial Hospital, early morning.)_

Doctors hadn't been obligated to come in early for their shifts, or rather this was the case when some extracurricular emergency of a matter of life or death hadn't come up, but still you did tend to see a few stragglers staying locked inside of their offices well past midnight and sometimes resort to catching a few hours of sleep slumped over their desk. It was just simpler for them to consolidate everything into a far more palpable state that had all of their life essentials revolving around their place of employment, and even dating for many been reduced to shopping around the observation room or the numerous departments for someone who had been conveniently enjoying similar things as they did. Michael had dabbled in both of these quite a bit over the years, the best of his luck personified by the oddly cheery oncology department head who had dated him for nearly a year, but quickly took back her praises of his dimples and figure after the two had disagreed over where their future would lead them. You see, she had longed to have a child and get married on top of the sixty hour work week that she would be working indefinitely to pay off her astronomical student loan bills, which strangely enough were greatly reduced by over a dozen grants and scholarships.

When she brought this to his attention, he labored at the idea that he would be even willing to imagine himself as a father hypothetically, let alone establish a five year plan that would end with making it a surefire reality. She stormed out of his apartment the one night after one last session of lovemaking, her own stupidity for thinking that maybe she could let him warm up to the idea in due course, although part of her had already been disillusioned to such a point that she thought it had already happened. Michael took the backlash at mixing his personal and professional life and vowed to never to make the same mistake again, and as he realized that he was steadily climbing up the latter towards middle age, he also began to understand far too well that trying his hand at dating would only prove more heartache and hardships. And now, as he began to fade back into the realm of the living and wipe the drool off of his lip and the desk underneath him, an extended groan sounded as he arched his back as much as he could while still sitting in his wheel-equipped office chair. He corked his neck to each side and a pair of morbidly unhealthy cracking sounds dispelled from his muscles boisterous protest to his lack of exercise, his eyes wandered off as much as his mind was, telling him to go back to sleep as his cellphone was telling him it wasn't even seven yet. However, just as he rested his chin into the rich mahogany the corded phone to his right began to ring and the irritating screech was enough to cast off any hopes of sustained slumber.

"One of these days...i'm going to throw you out of the fucking window." His gravelly voice was mostly unintelligible and reduced to a fit of growling, as his unsettled eyes were still adjusting and trying their best to clear up, his staggering hand reached outright and took the phone in his grasp. "Hello?"

"You know, you never did call me, what it's been three weeks now and I still haven't heard anything from my son? I mean, Melvin and I have been worried sick." A feminine and nasally voice screeched through the other end, the phone needing to be pulled a few inches away from Michaels ear to avoid any chance of deafness from the ensuing auditory trauma.

"I know, I know, i'm sure that he's just growing crops with his tears. Listen, I promised the both of you that I would look after the kid, and that he would be safe. Alright? What do you think I do when I get home, huh? Gather around the kitchen table and show him Nazi-esque anti-Stacey propaganda? He's had every chance to get a hold of you, that's between the two of you." He barked into the phone, far more put off by the fact that this conversation was interrupting his sleep then the questioning itself.

"Well...how is he doing?" She nearly mutedly inquired.

"He still goes out at all hours of the night, I mean...I don't mind the fact that he has his own agenda or anything, but sometimes it's hard to get a read on him. But, he's a strong kid, besides after last time I really don't think him spending time with your hubby is the best thing for him. That reminds me, how is that crass son of a bitch doing, anyway?" He piped in.

"He's doing alright, just...just a bit banged up, it makes me a bit more cautious about Brian being out so late at night, though. What if it were him?" She replied as if she were a wounded dove cooing in her best attempt to attract attention, but Michael was all too familiar with the ensemble performances of Stacey Jahansky to take the bait, and just then a soft knock came from the other side of his office door.

"Listen...i'm going to have to get going, you know me, drugs to prescribe and people to cut open. I'm hanging up, now, bye." More then happy to the conversation over and done with, he breathed a collective sigh of relief and once again draped himself over the center of his desk, so longer wishing to be left alone but letting his body language be enough to signify that he was giving up on the day extraordinarily early. "Come in."

The soft click of the tumblers turning over soon were to follow, and the sleek form of none other then Penelope Lanelli graced the presence of his very humble and medially organized workspace, she took a brief moment to scan the surrounding enclosure and slightly cringed at the sight. Things hadn't been arranged in the most cleanly of ways, but still the office itself had taken a nosedive in comparison to before but still with her faithful physician waving her over to take a seat she wasted no time in nearly sprinting over toward him. She was still carrying herself a bit awkwardly with the increase in weight to her front, and because of such she had been fatigued far more easily, a change that he had taken note of and took a moment to observe before he clicked his pen a few times and cleared his throat before beginning. Licking his lips a few times to give himself a bit more emphasis behind his pronunciation, he started off in a series of impractical ramblings as he began to sift through a stack of disorderly papers to try and find a few which had belonged to the case in question.

"Are you...are you sure you're really a doctor?" The question was taken a bit less seriously by Michael, who smiled back at her for a second prior to turning his small assortment of five or six pages of documentation around and in the view of his patient.

"I'm one today. You didn't make our appointment last week, I know you had said that you wanted this to be done discreetly, but I cant help you if you don't help me." Only slightly annoyed, he worked the fingers from both his hands together and used them as a resting place for his lips up to his nose, Penelope was now fixated on the papers in front of her as she pieced through and scanned the text of each.

"I know, i'm...im sorry. I had some personal issues that got in the way, and also its not very easy for me to get to connecting bus routes in time, I have a lot of walking to do and waddling is about all im doing right now." She chuckled softly at her own misfortune, slightly exhausted and exasperated just thinking of having to lug herself around from point a to point b. "What are these? I thought...you said that we could get around this?"

"I can, and I will, but first I need for you to check off a few things and sign yourself in as Consuela Hernandez, and then the paperwork will have absolutely no hope of being traced back to you. Everything else should be fairly simple, the procedure might take the better half of a day, seeing as it's a late term termination but it should go smoothly. Now, that being said...you not having any way out here...is a bit of a problem. I'd honestly to get you in here in the morning tomorrow, but I don't think you should be moving around so much, but that's just me." He further elaborated as her face began to slightly cringe, not disgusted but more so in deep contemplation over how exactly she would get to the hospital on such short notice, not to mention her shortage of funds.

"Did you...have someone in mind?" She quietly asked.

"Matter of fact...I do." A wry smile arose as his one eye was trained on her while the other was looking outward at his cellphone which was still faintly illuminated its immediate surroundings. "How'd everything go last week when you were over?"


	46. Miasma

_"It is often said that someone is considered a sexual "deviant" or "sexual psychopath," however the use of such a phrase is incredulously laced in redundancy as the two words stand for majorly the same meaning. In the truest form of the word, a person who would be given such a title would tend to exhibit certain behaviors, or lack thereof, such as but not limited to the following: a lack of emotional or psychological attachment in personal and interpersonal relationships, a general disregard of the emotive natures that go along with the human condition such as guilt or remorse, and also a lack of interpersonal balance which would stem outward to poor impulse control. The term itself is a bit of a taboo turn of phrase in the field nowadays, often coined by everyone and anyone regardless of proper testing being done for diagnostics sake, and often mirrored very darkly by the media. There is a tendency to refer to the vast majority of the population as "broken" over the last few generations, and with such a mothering has arisen to try and give them a time to heal and feel through the pain, however I cannot stress this enough to you: the psychopath is a minefield of the mind of which one mustn't dabble in needlessly. In their mind there could be gauntlet of things which could further stand to influence their next move, and the lack of hormonal and neurological structure could leave you in the midst of a game of Russian roulette with a bag of very different emotional states. They seek control, in many cases, above all else and seem to be able to turn just about anything into a bidding for power in the situation. Think that you could actually withstand Hannibal Lector breathing down your neck because you read a textbook in your first year of university? Well...lets just say that you have no idea how much further down the rabbit hole they are than you. And I pray that you never do."_

_-Oliver Harding, University of Gotham_

"In the wake of a recent crime spree which has gone from basic civil disobedience and vandalism to murder, the GCPD has made a statement this morning stating that it has been busier this last month then any other, dating all the way back to the tragic events which lead up to the death of district attorney Harvey Dent. With a string of at least three confirmed deaths and a pair of matching jewelry store robberies in the Princeton district, some news outlets have made claims that the two are related, however a spokesperson for the department has refuted such ideas and reassures citizens that they are doing everything that they can to bring the culprits to justice...and that they are closing in on the suspect. He also mentioned that the need for increased security in homes and small businesses would not be a necessity as they were firmly believing the acts to be directly connected to gang activity. In other news, police commissioner Melvin (blank) was rushed to the hospital due to head trauma inflicted by an unknown assailant and vigilante, most reports have speculated that the very same masked man was responsible for stopping a mass shooting in its tracks at a nearby mall and saving dozens of innocent lives. The commissioner has since issued a statement that he was given a clean bill of health, and although a bit bruised the ambulance escort was simply a precautionary measure. We'll have more as the story progresses." A small television had been mounted to the wall in the bathroom of a small gas station downtown, and a female news anchor who was clearly trying far too diligently to pander to the audience with the globs of makeups and eyeliner blending and evening out the wrinkles across her face. My head shook from left to right and I decided to ignore the rest of her slander, feeling as if the eyes of the world had been descending upon me and just shrugged the lot of it off with the thought that I had walked away from my days of galvanizing heroism, and I had full intentions to spend the rest of my day being normal. The air escaping my nostrils and parting from between my lips as I began to feel the pronounced rise and fall of my slightly firm abdomen, a mere flicker of powerlessness and rage dripped down my spine as my hands clenched together into a matching set of fists, one inhumanly elongated exhale and I told myself that the anger would leave me with it.

When my mind continued to wander in the furthest reaches of the night, and my aching heart and scorched soul could find little solace in the art of reminiscence, I would resort to basic forms of exercise to fill in the void where your voice and where your body once stood. It wasn't supposed to be taken seriously, and there wasn't supposed to be this brand new version of myself brought to life from that baseless decision, but that's just that way things turned out to be. My back and forearm became all the more strengthened because everything underneath had already been dissected and chastised so much that there wasn't any more that I could give the world. And all that I wished for was that there would be a way to have the strength enough to never get hurt again. I cant be in that place again. I cant curl up into a ball in the corner of my room and die a little bit each day on the inside, there isn't enough feeling left for it, some things are simply better left to die in the desert of ones own past. The stars are the only watchful eyes to keep us honest in the darkness of night. There isn't a light left in my eyes to carry on in the daylight as a reckless youth of immeasurable wealth, and by the moonlight there only is a depth of depravity that would be the end of me. Have you ever noticed as someone gets older their eyes tend to change, and by that I mean that the two of them are the same color but you see within them is far from identical, and in fact if you focused long enough you might just see a completely different person from the outside in. Maybe it's the presence of both who they once were in some distant life of which they can no longer lead, regardless of how much they would sacrifice to regain it, coupled with the reality they still might not have fully come to terms with? The struggle of learning to just be, and true self actualization. I don't know who I am, I never did then and even now I cannot claim to hold all of the answers from my experiences, but as I cupped a small amount of ice cold water with my hands and had it collide with my face the mug that met my gaze in the mirror was more of a husk. Taking both of my phones out of my pockets, my personal cell would serve to get in touch with Michael and ask him to pick me up, siting car trouble as the reason and that I would need a lift when he gets the chance. The burner on the other hand, I removed the sim card from its innards and tossed it awkwardly into a nearby trashcan.

_I'll be there to pick you up in about twenty minutes, don't go anywhere, I have to ask you for a favor tomorrow. Now its not blackmail, just calling it even? :p_

_I'm not smuggling drugs out of the hospital for you, just an fyi._

_Wont need to break the law, and even if that was the case, at least one of us would find a use for that massive super-saver box of condoms. Lol. Besides, you owe me one after last time, captain cock-block. I'll be there soon, kid. _

True enough to his word, with about a minute to spare he had pulled up outside of the gas station and I came out to meet him seconds afterword's, he made a small remark about the fact that I had decided to buy a slushy when I supposedly hadn't had enough money on me to call for AAA. Despite the fact that I had my savings account quintupled times a thousand and had myself thrust into situations that were far beyond any pay grade I could obtain, there wasn't the outer preliminary's which I had initially imagined would come from such a thing. Supposedly I had my lawyer friend with the ponytail of the standard "douchebag with a guitar who only can play one chord but he still gets more girls than you" for that, a maestro of damage control and relinquishing peoples rights to public attention and the only reason why people weren't clamoring for a statement about how I felt being twenty plus million richer. But it would come soon enough, just you wait and see, even then I knew that the stillness of life is fleeting at its best. There was something a bit different about Michael on this day, a more peppy skip in his step as he made his quips or even rolled down the windows of his car and blasted a mix tape of eighties rock, a selection of artists so coked out of their mind that his own carpool karaoke would be more fitting to how their voices would sound in this day and age. We weren't taking the same route to get back home, that had been made undeniably obvious after the fact that we had made our way through a tunnel and past a few of the more scenic areas of Gotham, we hadn't lived in the slums but this detour was a definite improvement over the apartment complexes and close quarters and lingering smell of pollutants. The car slowed to a crawl and the engine was shut off, he turned and looked at me with a gritty smile and had seemed to expect something of a response out of me, but yet I had no inkling of what I hadn't known yet he already had.

"Is this the part where you tell me to look at the rabbits?" I joked with a wry smile and let a small chuckle escape me, he shook his head in astonishment and gave up his hopes that I would catch on to whatever he was trying to pull out of me.

"You...really don't remember what today is, do you?" He asked, still poised as before but now he was most assuredly more leveled, a bit more serious and now he just kept shaking his head and occasionally closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself. "It's your birthday, Brian, and I know that so much has happened in the last year or so. It probably didn't even feel like a year had passed. Come on, there's something that i'd like to show you. You know, to celebrate, so its a surprise. Which means you actually have to leave the car and go someplace with a group larger then one."

"Okay..." I trailed off, pulling on the handle and sluggishly getting myself out of the car. "Lead the way, captain alcoholism."


	47. From Afar

About a half a mile down the fertile stretch of grass I could see a small property in the distance, not by any means a rival to Wayne Manor but it was respectable and held its own in the midst of an area that almost bore a striking resemblance to the Hamptons, majestically beautiful yet an obvious treat to the one percenter's who had inhabited the land. Steadily onward we paced through the lush foliage and eventually reached the front door to the miniature estate, when Michael stepped in front of me and felt around inside of his pockets for a moment before revealing a small shimmering key which he then used to unlock the home. The door gave a second or two of discontentment before giving way and revealing the first bit of the place to us: a one story with what looked to be three rooms in total including a medium sized full kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom although despite titular components each of the rooms were entirely bare. Personally, the place had a very simplistic and subtle charm that had both matched the quaint abode and alienated it from everything else in the area which had longed for five plus floors and at least one Jacuzzi to be a firmly established standard of living. Something had seemed off about the place, but more so then that there was a bit of uncomfortable silence coming from Michael as he just sat with his back to the action and let me soak in the lot of the places fixture and stylistic offerings. At the current condition of the place, I wasn't much of a picky person when it came to apartments and homes, and it had still been unclear why exactly Michael was looking to move, let alone do so to relocate all the way out here. Unless, of course, his motive was to start making his living off of giving house calls to the richest of Gotham...although I had also known just how many times he had reiterated just how fervently he hated the idea of doing just that.

"Is there a reason that you want us to move all the way out to the middle of wine country with the aristocrats?" I said inquisitively with a toothy grin across my face, obviously laughing off my own confusion at the situation in hand.

"It's...it's not for us, actually. Listen, kid, Brian, even now I still need to remember sometimes that you aren't a child anymore. I mean, I know that you've only been living with me for a short while, but in some ways...I wouldn't have changed any of it. But, you aren't going to want to be sharing an apartment with me forever, and so I though it would be nice to try and find something you'd enjoy. You always were the minimalist, right?" He was flustered as he sidestepped through the property, he recomposed himself before walking over to one last door of which I hadn't noticed prior and hadn't been connected to any of the rooms, my mind automatically reasoned that it must lead to a basement of some kind, whether it be finished or not being entirely needless and separate of the main point. "The upstairs might not have anything too fancy, but the basement...well, you'll just have to see for yourself."

So, a very mundane and mostly useless fact for you all, but despite some others being a step or two less then the standard a traditional flight of stairs is exactly twelve steps in total. And when you are going down a flight of stairs the perspective of what exactly it means to do so, if anything at all, is entirely dependent on context, like how while I approached the bottom on the staircase I was pleasantly at a complete loss for words and just couldn't keep myself from smiling and panning back and forth from the basement to my perpetually inebriated godfather. There was this effervescent glow that was coming from all sides of the basement as he had flipped a switch on the way down, and there before me, arranged ever so remarkable in a pattern along the corners of the room were at least a dozen arcade cabinets humming and sounding off in their own natural glory. There were classics such as Pac-Man, Galaga, and Frogger as well as a slew of more modern additions like Street Fighter II, House of the Dead, and even a standard beat'em up of which I hadn't recognized the title. And the strangest thing about all of this laid out before me? Well, for starters, the sheer fact that any of this was real to begin with as my mental math was trying to crunch numbers and pinpoint just how much this all would have cost for the machines alone. When I was a child my parents and I would go out somewhere and, sure enough the time would come where they weren't sure exactly what to do with me, and so they sighed in relief as I would become so invested in the pure, unsaturated beacons of joy that were set up in most places back in the day. Whether it be gas stations, Laundromats, or even the grocery store, there would be an arcade game there for me to sink both my mind and my parents wallets into until they had finished their business. And now that my childhood was staring directly back at me, just as I had once stared directly into it which a very different set of eyes, my mind was finally at ease enough to say something for what felt like an hour...even if Michael hadn't minded my speechlessness, for him it just meant he was seeing a job well done.

"How...the fuck...did you ever pay for this?" I inquired as if I had just finished running a marathon.

"It wasn't as expensive as you might think, and plus with you being a millionaire, I figured you wouldn't know how to use it properly. So...I got you off to a great start. The machines came from a patient who I helped a year or so ago with going through the donors list, so if anything breaks or needs maintenance he'll be out here, he might be a grumpy son of a bitch...but that's just his character." Michael inferred.

"So...you said you needed a favor, huh?" I squeaked out, feeling as if the surprise for my nearly belated birthday had been some sort of greasing of the hinges to increase my susceptibility.

"Oh, come on, don't make it seem like I had an ulterior motive. It's...it's about Penelope, alright? She needs someone to take her down to the hospital tomorrow, and as much as I would love to do so, it's going to be very obvious that something's off if im giving patients rides. Plus, i'd love to see you two lovebirds get some more time together." He settled my nerves a bit, but then again the familiar name had also given rise to some caution as I wondered why exactly she needed to be taken to the hospital at all, but never the less I knew better then to think he would cough up any information on the subject. After a few seconds his smile returned and he was finding it hard not to laugh, and I knew out of the corner of my eye that he had been staring at my hair, which I had somehow forgotten was still the same putrid yellow. "Enjoying your birthday, big bird? Come on, lets get something to eat."

"I'll shave it off when we get back to the apartment, and okay." Shrugging off the comment with a soft bit of laughter, we made out way up the stairs and he hit the switch once more to turn off all lights to the basement, within moments we were leaving the premises and making our way back towards the car. However, what had gripped me most of all in this situation in which my normal life had seemed to resonate at a highpoint of the likes I have never seen before, a velvety darkness had snaked its way back. As I opened my door to the passengers side, one thing had been added to the car since our short excursion only fifteen minutes prior, a small cloth napkin had been placed on the seat and in the center of it was a lipstick mark as black as night...directly beneath it in the finest display of calligraphy were the words "I've been missing you."


	48. Life Expectancy

In the hours that followed my mind couldn't even get close to shaking the feeling that she was out there at all times: watching me, taking in the scenery in such a predatory fashion, and as of right now the next to non-existent distance between us had ceased being cute. This girl, scratch that, this woman, was able to somehow determine where I would be and what I would do every single waking second and no matter how many times I had felt that we had given her the slip she still was only a few steps behind us. To be Michael in this situation was a place of perspective of which I envied oh so desperately, he couldn't tell just how little privacy he really had, but then again maybe she had not taken any interest in his behaviors? Perhaps only I had the prerequisites to catch her attention for this long, and the longer I had thought about the circumstances in any extended sense of detail, the less frequently I tried to barge in with some semblance of a defense towards her actions. Surely enough, I had felt a tad bit guilty in sleeping with her and because of that I hadn't intended on finding out anything negative about the aloof and most likely looney bedfellow, but now with the crumpled note in my possession I had come to terms with just how deeply my denial had set in. Was it so much to ask that the women in my life hold the slightest tinge of normalcy? Well, if she had been such a woman the chances would've been that I had never even given her enough attention to put myself in this predicament to begin with, as I had always found one of my greatest weaknesses in relationships to be that I had grown bored of people easily. Sleep hadn't come until something to the effect of three o'clock the next morning, and even once it had come it was nearly useless and scatter-brainily ill witted, my body having felt even more worse for wear once I had came to.

For the next few hours that followed I watched the darkness bleed out from the corner of my view and give way to a oddly ominous fog that had only needed a tinge more girth to entirely abscond with the light of day. So immeasurably satisfying: there was this muddled and barely intelligible figure poking through the mist which had almost served as a reminder for two things, one of them being that hope was still overstaying its welcome, and the other to clarify that the morning had still arrived on schedule so I had the pleasure of hearing Michael stub his toe on the coffee for the umpteenth time and threaten the household appliances. Trust me, if you only could see the likes of a grown man attempting to barter with a blender after it somehow dies halfway through making a smoothie, you would understand the level of hilarity that I would surely miss without him. I mean, I like smoothies as much as the next guy, but not enough to bypass looking like a madman just on the off chance that I can avoid paying three dollars for it. Then again, in my case my dignity has been long since sapped in the other shortcomings of my life, so suffice as to say that I'll be a good little hypocrite and hope nobody notices until i'm old enough to deny it on account of senility. After the live action culmination of "the seven dirty words you cant say on tv" and a painful reading of a pamphlet of instructions from IKEA, that were either their version of the necronomicon or were mostly likely being read upside down while half asleep, his lumbering land mass of a body left the apartment and I was in peace. Fifteen to twenty minutes worth of sorting through emails which had compounded to a number something of the likes of five or six thousand and I began glancing over at the clock every few minutes, there had been only a half hour or so left before I would need to pickup Penelope and my mind was longing for something to pass by the time. I had left off with my inbox being about eight hundred or so messages lighter then where it had been from the start, the sea of blackened and emboldened text staring me straight in the face however, the first piece of correspondence had caught my eye and drew my attention back to the screen.

_"Delyrical95! You have a received a new private message from user TwilightPrincess957..."_

At first glance I had taken the message as spam that had managed to squeak its way through my mail filter, but next to the tagline itself it had revealed the sender as being for a site called InterPals, a website which I had once used on an almost daily basis. As the name itself might have already given away, it was designed as a social media platform through which people could find pen pals from all corners of the globe and keep in touch, a prospect that had interested me all the way through high school. It hadn't always been easy to make friends, and at times it was ten times more difficult to keep tabs on them from time to time, so for myself it was a natural path for me to generally fantasize about meeting someone from the other side of the world and know what it was like for them. Had they dealt with some of the same issues as I had? Did they have the same values and beliefs as I had? Did they enjoy the same foods, and if not were they the same foods that I had heard about in stereotypical fashion via the media? With the power of technology and the ever more apparent ease of access and information, the possibilities truly are endless for those willing enough to listen. It had been over a year since my last time using the service, and even then I didn't remember ever getting anything back from anyone I had met, however briefly, on the site over my nearly two years of browsing. That was to be expected, though, no matter the ambiance or anonymity offered through an online interaction as opposed to one face to face, if you didn't have any point to start a conversation off of then you most likely wouldn't be able to keep it going for long. And as much as people cling to the idea that an awkward silence is entirely normal when meeting someone for the first time, it can also be the sign that you have absolutely nothing worth talking about with this person. Opening the email I saw that there wasn't much sent to me, but in my mind I was already aiming to waste my time so I was getting exactly what the doctor ordered, and my eyes slowly scanned the semi-paragraph wrapped in quotations that stood before me.

_"Hey! I saw some of the stuffs in your profile! :D Trying to find somebody to talk to on here from the states, my life isn't too busy but it can get a little boring sometimes, you know? :P I saw that you were trying to learn Japanese, so if you wanted to chat sometime, or just maybe we could help each other with languages? One of my folks is from the states so I grew up with it, but people keep saying I have an accent. My names Serena, and...well...maybe i'll hear from you soon, hopefully. :)"_

Taking my index finger and lightly pressing down onto the power button for a few seconds, the soft humming of the computer ceased and I closed the laptop with one quick snapping motion, shrugging off the message as a secondary concern and gathering my things as I headed out the door to the apartment. Michael had given me her number the night beforehand, which strangely enough hadn't been something either of us had asked the other for in either of our previous encounters, I suppose the spontaneity had added fuel to the fire of feverish exasperation behind each sighting. Regardless of the contents of the nearly over-encumbering baggage we both bore, there was a sense of serene calm in the brief moments we had together, not that either one of us would have admitted to that much for the same reason I cited above. Unlike the other day when we had taken an extended tour through the darkened streets to reach her place, this time around I had merely been asked to meet her at a small gas station that had to have been at least five miles from there, her warm smile had tried to provide me some reassurance but her faded eyelids and smeared makeup painted her as an awful liar. She got in and we made our way to Gotham central hospital, hitting some of the traffic from the morning commute but nothing too treacherous, and we even managed to arrive ten minutes before her appointment and was assured that she would be seen shortly. The two of us exchanged glances back and forth, a coy smile here and there and the occasional wisecrack but the conversation had not burst forth until she rather autonomously called me by my name.

"You can leave if you want to...you don't have any reason to...I mean, it's not your responsibility." She was staring down at the cold tile floor beneath us, her head dipping up and reseeding downward by a measure of inches at a time, most likely counting the squares as her body language began to feel more paranoid or obsessively aware.

"Of course I do...I hear hospitals have the best fine dining experience a man could ask for! Pudding that can walk off and out the bowl all by itself, a meatloaf that has been around since the collapse of the USSR, if im lucky I might find myself a catheter." I jested.

"You didn't get sick and tired of pudding?" She questioned with a slight cringe breaking through to the surface.

"First off, it was an asylum, not a hospital. Completely different, they wouldn't trust us with pudding, what if someone turned it into a nuclear arsenal of banana nut infused warfare? It was for the best, you know, for mankind. I just got one of those gigantic dog collars, they're very stylish, almost as trendy as an assless gown."

"Brian...after this is over, can we just...get out of here?" She asked, with no real sense of direction or intent with the words themselves.

"Well, I mean we could, but the seventh floor supposedly has a spectacular view of a rectal exam and the food courts selling mystery jello...but as long as Michaels okay with it, why the hell not. Any ideas?" Shifting the ownership of the conversation over to her side for a change, only to be met with a passive nod in disagreement, moments after a middle aged woman wearing scrubs came out from one of the vacant waiting rooms and urged her to follow behind her. "I'll think of something."

"Okay, I'm counting on you." She cast back to me with a grin as she turned and vanished with the nurse back into the room from which she had previously came.

"That's what im afraid of..." I roughly said aloud to myself, watching the commotion of the hospice staff pass me by as the time waned on and I tried to get as comfortable as I could, a soft buzzing coming from my cellphone in my left pocket. Once more the soft ringtone rang out before being cut short by my acknowledgement of its existence, a single message was awaiting me but it was from a number that couldn't place but a tone I remembered all too familiarly, this time the note was a mere two words: _watch yourself_.


	49. A Bitter Pill

_**(A few minutes later, in the waiting room)**_  
As Penelope had settled into a chair of which had felt more like an abstract art piece then a designated piece of ergonomic furniture, the soft humming of mechanical devices, both of a medicinal purpose and otherwise, began to take a toll on her awareness. You see, there's a similar sensation felt when someone is in a situation of which yields little to no exterior stimuli for the person, and to put it plainly the mind is as bored as the body and so the mind begins to drift off into the fog of absent-mindedness. The nurse had spared little time for her to have any questions about the situation or even for the sake of menial small-talk, taking down her name and insurance information, or rather lack thereof, and took off with the risk of leaving a plume of dust in her wake if she had moved at any faster a pace. Now the only thing to endure was the base smothering silence in the foreground, offset with sprinkles of ambient noise and the occasional pitter patter of feet scuttling about just past the half inch barrier between the doors end and the floors beginning. Her stomach was preparing its first round of biological retribution against her for skipping breakfast when her clinically inclined physician entered the room and his wrinkled dress shirt and ruffled collar came into view, he cast a fleeting smile her way before trotting a few steps and taking a seat in a small stool beside her. Reaching his right hand into the collar of his lab coat, he retrieved a small syringe filled with a transparent liquid and held it up in front of her before lightly flicking his finger against its side to ensure that there weren't any lingering air pockets. With each and every passing centimeter that the instrument drew closer her heart began to race all the more fervently, her hands were a bit uneven and as a result she decided it best to rest them underneath her legs and let gravity keep her still.

"Do you still trust me to do all that I can to help you?" There wasn't an ounce of disbelief or mockery of the craft behind the context of this moment, and he bore a hole into her with the unwavering stare of a lifetime that had been the first time that he had truly appeared to have that extra layer of legitimacy and confidence in his ability. Penelope nodded, all the while never taking her eyes of the syringe itself, which Michael took notice of an lowered the piece. "It's a low-grade sedative, as of right now everything is set and ready to go, but in order for this to work i'm going to need you to come in unconscious. Otherwise, there's far too many questions, I give you a shot of this and we wake up in an hour or so and your life just got a little less complicated. Last chance, are you ready for this?"

"Does...does he know about why i'm really here?" She inquired.

"Who, Brian? Probably, I mean, I haven't said anything to him about it. It's just, he's a smart kid, resourceful. You could give him a book of matches in the middle of the pacific ocean and he'd find a way to start a fire. He's probably put two and two together by now, but it's just not his way, he's much better at just hiding sore subjects from people. Hell, maybe even from himself, getting to know him is a little bit like taking out a mortgage. Now, i'm going to need you to sit back, take a deep breathe, and just try to relax. You're going to feel a slight pinch, but if all goes well you'll be out cold before you know it." Michael had clearly spent enough time trying to do just the same level of investigation as she had been wondering about then, however, unlike her, he was merely an informed party looking back on the lot of it in insight and doing his best to say what he could as best he could. Her overall posture leveled off and he came towards her with the needle, sticking it as best he could into a vein beneath the midpoint of her slender arm, she began to form a question towards him but it hardly left her lips before she began to labor over her thoughts and she went limp from head to toe. "Alright, now how the fuck am I going to lift you to a wheelchair."

_**(Back in the main lobby and waiting area of the hospital)  
**_With the last hour of my time having been spent sorting through far more magazines then any straight man with a reasonable social life ever should, it was fairly clear to me that the staff here had little understanding of what reading materials were appropriate. My knowledge of how to make absolutely adorable flower arrangements, create a better workspace through fung shui, and of how to properly please woman (curtsey of the cosmopolitan) being as high as can be, I decided to listen to the gurgling of my stomach. Between the brief journey to the cafeteria and getting myself lost on the way back, it must've been forty to forty-five minutes later when I finally had gotten back to where I was before and had Michael staring at me with bated breathe and folded arms to greet me. Penelope had also managed to resurface beside him in one of the chairs, not quite unconscious but it was clear that the only reason she wasn't already was due to commendable willpower, her eyes looking sunken in and her general appearance indicatively frail and languid. Now, despite this fact that was obviously standing out to the both of us, at the first sight of my return she had tried her damnedest to rise from her seat and leave before the question of the hour came up between the three of us. Without a word being said aloud, Michael looked me straight in the eyes with a glare that could stop time itself and motioned that the two of us should have a word in private as she recuperated where she currently stood. His lips pierced and his forehead lifted up about a half inch to demonstrate that the situation had not been too entertaining for him, his hands both stuffed deep within his pockets searching endlessly for a way to best begin his own brand of lecturing, as he had never been one to scold me for much but he knew when to speak his mind when he deemed it pertinent enough.

"How...how did everything go?" I asked hoping to cut the tension and give him a proper segue.

"She's going to be sore for a while, she's going to need to get as much rest of she can the next few days, but she should be alright. Still don't think that the two of you should be running all over the place tonight, though." He confessed as an attempt at reason.

"Didn't think she would bring that up...listen, she's in good hands with me, alright? I made her a promise that I would give her some fresh air, and besides, I don't take after your idea of a good time." I said in retort with a wry smile.

"Yeah, yeah, jackass, just keep smiling. I hope your face stays that way." He spat as the two of us did a full turnabout and walking back over to her, now out of her restful position and hurriedly looking at the exit sign in anticipation, miming a farewell to Michael we walked out of the hospital with him telling us that he would take care of the rest of the paperwork from there and we left premises. Making some headway through the parking lot and back over to where I had parked my car, my left arm all this time had been used as a support structure for her to continue walking, despite some previous annoyance present at the idea of me insisting to help her. She was as stubborn as an old man trying to return pizza at a bridal shop, and she was well equipped to leave well enough alone, but she also knew that she was in no shape to be forcing extra strain on her body.

"Thanks...I just really hate hospitals, they just always feel like death, you know?" She sounded off without the slightest stammer, I nodded in acknowledgment as I opened the passenger side door and let her have the independence enough to go on from there. "Wait, so where are you going anyways. It's just I don't really have much cash with me."

"Oh...don't worry about it, I've got it covered." I reassured her.

"Are you sure?" She insisted.

"Yeah...im sure." I confirmed, failing to hold back a smirk.


	50. Continue

There was an arcade five or six miles away from the hospital, which often would hold lock-ins on most nights due to an absurd demand for eating hot dogs, or in the very least they would and could only be called that in the technical sense, and bleeding their wallets dry one dollar at a time in the wee twilight hours. Maybe I've mentioned it before in the past? Well, its no matter, its worthy of a second recommendation and she had given me carte blanche to go wherever as long as it would take us far away from there. There was the unspoken expectation that wherever we went was meant to provide a certain element of distraction and diversion from everything that was happening, it was becoming a routine that I was more then happy to oblige to, and after all it was almost nice to see her smile from time to time. And no, I've said it from time to time but I cant express this enough, a smile is not just a smile...it has just has many colors and shades and contortions to it as any person has emotions from within to be expressed. One cannot simply yield to a smile without some helpful examination as to the legitimacy of it as a whole, you cant just place your faith in the surface and feign ignorance when your entire world begins to crumble all around you. Sure, because of my own self-administered catharsis last time around, my hair was the sacrifice to be had and it has still limply swayed with the rush of the wind coming through the open drivers seat window...but by this time around it was almost a token of a good time had. She hadn't asked where we were heading, and once again had fallen silent as the night's calm whistle carried on the whole way there, I cleared my throat and once again brought conversation back in style.

"Is...there a reason why you didn't want me to pick you up at the same place as last time?" Levity is divine, but there's a time and place for difficult subjects to be brought up, its just a matter of just how tender an issue it is to the person being asked. A belated sigh was my first response, a bit inconclusive of a signal but it at least meant that she wasn't too keen on making that the first item on the agenda.

"It wasn't...technically my place, it was my girlfriends house, she was renting it out with her boyfriend. They kicked me out the other day, she didn't say exactly why but I can put two and two together." She stated calmly.

"Was it because of the boyfriend?" I asked, completely caught off guard by how nonchalant she was in detailing such things to me.

"No, I mean he's got the personality of a brick and a dick the size of a tic-tac, but that's besides the point. They were afraid of my ex aka, you know, the babies father. I didn't want to get you involved or make you feel like you had to do anything for me, but he isn't exactly the nicest person in the world, he's kind've a big deal with the brothers. It's his handiwork, he always knew each one of my friends in case he wanted to find out where I was. They didn't want to risk their lives for me. Bad friends, although I've had a lot worse, but I don't blame them." My best instinct had been to place one hand onto the side of her arm, she flinched a bit and after a full body jerking motion much like being shook back into consciousness she could only muster a weak smile to compliment her eyes as they began to shine. "Brian...i'm not saying that its what you were thinking, but...I...I'm the last person you want to get involved with."

"Well, you're in luck, you just so happened to find the one guy fucked enough to keep well enough alone. How about...we just remain friends, just...very damaged ones." Once more left guilty of the cardinal sin of laughing at ones own jokes, the car pulled into a fairly uninviting parking lot and as soon as the seatbelt was released I made sure to give her a small token of my sincerity in the form of another warm embrace. "So...how exactly do you know the size of that guys dick, again?"

"Im a girl, we talk about a lot more then you think, its in our nature. We're like estrogen fueled ninjas." She said with a small chuckle.

"I'll keep that in mind, I hope you don't mind arcades?" I sounded off as she turned to the side and noticed the drab and deteriorating décor of the building which still yielded a moderately faded and weathered sign which said "player one arcade and billiards."

"Wait...so does this mean I get to kick your ass in something?" She asked with a devious expression highlighted with a sneer and a snidely subtle licking of the lips.

"Right...like you're going to win...I mean, no offense but you're going in with a disadvantage, after all." Sticking my tongue out as a way to attempt getting the last laugh and racing off towards the door, although she was wise enough to the gesture and grabbed ahold of my shirt, tagging along for the ride as if we were water skiing on cement.

"I should win! It's not very gentlemanly, you know? I'm a woman, you know all of that bullshit misogyny, we're delicate flowers. Uber easily offended!" She pleaded in a tone much like an inner child within her was commandeering the controls.

"I could call bullshit on that, I mean you know, you being described as a "ninja" and then as "delicate" in almost the same sentence. But I know better." I told her, almost sounding like I was scolding myself.

"Haha, and you make it seem like you wouldn't be a good boyfriend, I don't see it. You're perfectly trainable, like a puppy!" She informed as her eyes gleamed with a brand new intensity at the sight of the thoroughly vicious and scornful look of death I had cast her way at such a remark.

We called a truce on our verbal feud for the moment and headed in and paid our ten dollars admission to the man with the insanely overabundant amount of body hair over every visible inch of his body, although strangely enough its reaches hadn't included the likes of the top of his head. We had been informed that we had the next four hours to splurge to our hearts delight, and there were so many arcade cabinets to choose from, not to mention the miscellaneous other games such as racing titles, at least a dozen cranes, a pair of red and blue alternating air hockey tables, and much more. If my memory serves me correctly, we started off with a pair of races, just to serve as a warm up and for the most part there was this idiotic part of me that felt like I should give Penelope a warm-up: big mistake. Why, might you ask? Because she ended up lapping me as I tussled with a steering wheel that couldn't bank a sharp turn to save its life, and she jokingly tossed it up to nature corrected the stigma that supposedly woman are poor drivers. After that I was hard pressed to choose something or a far more traditional nature, now surging with an almost laughable sense of competiveness and a Pac-Man cabinet sitting in the far right corner was just the thing to even the score, and I did just that. She was somehow thinking that because she wasn't the best at it, her game plan was to botch her run and enrage me with her lack of interest in it, and by god did it work by the time we tried something of the fighting game nature. Who ever thought a grown man would be disciplined by an eight foot panda in a video game? There were a few rounds that I had managed to win, but in fairness I can say that those victories were shallow, and most likely a result of fatigue...or pity.

"I think that's one point for gender equality...and P.E.T.A." She insisted on continuing her teasing as we exited the arcade, it was up to me to once again inject my own banter, however as we were about to get into things a full force a darkened figure was caught out of the corner of my eye, staring at us with a boisterous and toothy smile. The outfit of the same deranged femme fatale who had apparently been able to have tragedy and destruction surrounding her every move now stood before the both of us, and right now there wasn't a clear way of the situation...except straight on through. Her involved and eccentric manner of dressing had once again shone through, this time around garnering a full figured and frilly pink and black dress now snuggly hugging her slender form just a ways above her bust line, the makeup had still been as it was before in all of its haunting artistry.

"Can mommy and daddy just...talk for a sec? Sorry, dear...but this is grown-up talk." She spat aggressively, obviously perturbed by her presence.


	51. Red Handed

Its been shown in many studies amongst the scientific community that siblings, as well as some very close friends although it happens far less and is a bit more uncommon, have exhibited a sort of telepathic link: meaning that in certain instances they can appear so in synch with one another that they often times will simply act as one with any prompting from an outside source. In my life that was a concept that had been as far removed from my own visions of normality as the thought of being able phase through solid matter, walk on water, or even being able to fly, so you can imagine the feeling of momentary supposition that coursed through me as I panned my eyes over and made the most hurried of glances in her direction and she was waiting for me to do just that. My mind had associated the fleeting bit of eye contact as reassurance that I was going to be fine, as my feet carried me away from Penelope with her mouth agape and over towards the middle of the large stretch of abysmal macadam. With a soft hand motion she tried her best to direct me out of the parking lot and down the sidewalk adjacent to it, I hadn't needed any cajoling to do as she asked at that point, for if she had chosen to snap and to what she had done to the last two poor bastards I had not intended to let Penelope or myself be a part of it. She would whisk herself away down the sidewalk as if she was trying to skip with reckless abandon, however her own form would fail her and cause her to end up looking overall out of place performing the action, a mile or so in she began with a soft whistle before lightly tapped my shoulder and pushed me into a nearby alleyway. I hadn't even noticed that it was there until I had tensed my body only to seemingly miss the wall that I had sworn was going to be my only padding, and instead she just cracked at a smile at my momentary confusion.

"You know, it's not polite to keep a girl waiting, especially not nice to ignore her, either." She remarked, inching closer as she had done before on both accounts, my body contorting to provide a proper battle stance as her hands were soon within reach of my face. "You know, someone's following you? And it might just be female intuition...but I don't think they're here for your autograph."

"I know, I'm staring right at her, what did you steal a credit card or something that you're this accurate?" I said accusingly, causing her to let out a soft gasp, her one hand now gently touching my cheek and wiping off a bit of smudged dirt before caressing it carefully, her body language from head to toe was an enigma and hadn't in any way matched the true nature of what I knew full well she was capable of. "If you've been tailing me for as long as I think you have, then you know I know what you've done. You're a murderer."

"First off, i'm shocked that you would even have...the nerve to even...suggest such a thing. It was a debit card, for your information, completely different offenses in the eyes of the legal system, or at least I like to think so." Completely dodging the subject that any sane person would have broached first, for obvious reasons, taking her hand away from my face and reaching into the bust of her dress and retrieving a small object before handing it over to me. "I found someone trying to attach this to your car, they didn't do it right, so I put it somewhere safe. Amateurs."

"In-between your breasts is the safest place you could think of?" I jested, my eyebrows raised as I said such.

"Well...at least until you have some free time, then I might need to...find somewhere else to keep my belongings." She mused, charging forward at my face with some haste and now placing both of her hands onto me with each palm holding my cheeks steady, the two would only seconds later direct my head to the side as she began to speak to me with a set of pipes which sank into me like a full bodied fine red wine. "You know...as much as you say i'm a murderer...I don't see it in your eyes. Do you...trust me?"

"Strangely enough...I do." It was coming out this time in the same gravely voice that I had once reserved exclusively for my suited exploits, but this truth hadn't been about the costume at all, but rather this deeply perplexing sense of calm that she had managed to give me far more often then not. The fear with her recurring presence was far more having to do with what she was capable of with anyone else, rather than myself, suppose I could say that for me the psychosis of most women I came to know had given me such insight. Maybe to them I was that one person that they wouldn't dare allow themselves to lay a finger on, as fucking terrifying such flattery was, if it was the truth then there wouldn't be much use in believing in a lie, now would there? Releasing her hands she instead allowed me to look her straight in the face and witness the fullest extent of her maddeningly radiant smile, the tips of her fingers extended upwards the length of my neck and then halfway back down it.

"Well then...I want you stay...perfectly still, okie dokie?" She brought her lips to the base of my neck, and then with poise made her way up about six inches and began to lightly suck on the skin itself and slightly tug at, my body relaxing as my mind began to just race at the insanity but I just was fine enough with keeping her away from Penelope. And more so outside of that statement, maybe she wasn't the monster that I was searching for, and even though she had done it was I the one to judge her for it when I myself had done things I had spent each and every day wishing to take back. Was I really some white knight that I had to police her? A small thought that was cut short as she sunk her teeth in vigorously and a warm sensation began to seep down to my right shoulder, unlike the last time I had allowed her such freedoms, she had drawn blood. Feeling the tensing muscles, she took her lips to the area and quickly pulled off from her current position and forcefully collided her delicate and pouty lips with my own, my will breaking down and my own hands softening within a few seconds and snaking their way up her back. A far more restrained bite to my bottom lip, followed by a not as aggressive yet still fairly animalistic amount of tugging out of what I could only imagine was a demonstration of dominance, and she pulled away and took a few steps away to adjust her charcoal colored cosmetics. "I'll break a deal with you...boy scout...if you can figure out why I did it...then I'll stop."

"And then what?" I asked inquisitively, more so sounding like I had just gotten out of bed as I shrugged off the adrenaline and gestating hormones.

"Just about anything, eat a giant ice cream cone shaped like a giraffe, eat popsicles while playing a game of nude scrabble...I personally recommend that one, but really...the skies the limit."

"And you don't care, at all, about the families of the people you killed?" I insisted in a bit of a huff.

"If you have to ask...then you weren't paying enough attention, babe. And by the way, I miss the suit..." A glorious, yet devilishly forked tongue came out to bid me farewell as she walking backwards out of the alley and into the darkness of night, her hand reaching down to take a small rock in hand and followed by sending it careening into a streetlight which had been the only source of light keeping her from the abyss of the unseen. Losing sight of her form completely, I exited the alley and ran as fast as I possibly could back down to where I had came from originally to see an irate Penelope with steam pouring out of her ears at how long I had been gone for. Her hands extended well into the air and above her head in confusion, I finally caught back up to her and we both began to make our way over to the car, mostly just wanting to get her back home and let the rest of the day settle until I had some kind of a plan in place.

"Brian, who the fuck was that?" She was waiting with her hand on the door handle, clearly not impressed or entertained by the experience, the doors unlocked and the both of us poured in with restless legs.

"I...I have some things on my end that are a bit hard to explain...it's best not to get you involved. I just...wait, do you hear that?" I exclaimed as a subtle ticking sound could be heard coming from just between the car dashboard and the air condition, which had curiously enough stopped working the last few days. My palms began to sweat as I grabbed a hold of her by the wrist and used the sum of all the strength I had within me to yank the both of us out of there and clear a good five feet from the car. She was grumbling and even more furious then she had been moments ago, as I looked on to see the car in pristine working order, despite the muffled ticking still taking place.

"Brain! Are you crazy!" And just as she said that, the entire vehicle became engulfed in a ball of flame and a force like that of gale force winds pushed us back a good ten feet further then we already were, a light jacket she had been wearing was starting to catch fire at the sleeve. My survival instincts took hold and I ripped it from her in record timing and threw it off to the side, taking a deep breathe as I told her to turn over so I could make sure nothing else was enflamed before pulling her back onto her feet, and the both of us scuttled off and out of the parking a lot. Whoever had been responsible most likely was nearby, and they most likely wouldn't have been satiated by the lone causality being an archaic automobile.


	52. The Plays the Thing

My hearing would come back to me in spurts over the next twelve hours that were to follow, leading well enough into the subsequent day and through until the afternoon, I must have spent countless minutes pleading with her not to leave the apartment once we had finally gotten back safe and sound. However, as she had rationalized, this was something that was following me and so if I truly was trying to keep her safe then the best thing for her was to distance herself. Something had changed in her mannerisms and general way of speaking since last night, and unlike before when she would bare it all emotionally in my presence, it had felt as if she herself was reexamining whether or not to fully trust me. We had both agreed that, at least for the time being, we wouldn't bring up the issue of the car until a bit later on down the road for the sake of involving a bunch of other unnecessary attention. But yet, despite having ended the night on what I had assumed to be a pleasant note given the circumstances, there was this feeling that I couldn't shake, a sensation that was polarizing in nature. It comes and it goes with things I choose to do or not do, whether its as menial as whether or not to speed through a traffic light or as critical as who to lean on when all is falling down around you, in your mind you might get the lingering feeling that from there onward things could never again be the same. Penelope and I said our goodbyes for the day and she had assured me that she had found a sanctuary in a small shelter which had been aiding in giving single mothers and the homeless a place to stay and a warm meal for a few days or so at a time, leaving out the finer details out of mere desperation but I couldn't really fault her for it. The day had already been half over by the time I had readied myself and stepped foot outside of the flat, my wallet lightened by the absence of a pair of twenty dollar bills, and a burner phone once again was in my possession and a somewhat muddled memory had barely been able to recollect what a certain former officials number had been.

_Hello...? _A man's voice inquired after a series of dial tones sounded, the commissioner always had been a bit different then it was if heard in person, but that's to be expected. I cleared my throat heartily and then took a deep breath, deciding on exactly what I was going to say, considering what had transpired the last time I had seen him, not to mention that fact that he had been nearly foaming at the mouth.

"Have you been finding any new leads, commissioner?" Calmly and collectively I asked, making sure not to trip over my words as I did so, a brief pause hung over the next ten seconds or so as he began to recognize the voice.

_"Well, well, I wasn't expecting to hear from you...or at least...not anytime soon. But no, as of right now, every case file we looked into has been either closed or labeled for reassignment to someone else to look into...and my sources are starting to ignore my calls."_ His words had taken me off guard, but there was something in his sense of inflection that had told me that he wasn't having much luck in moving the case any further, and an inner something at that moment had been urging me to speak up about the matter.

"I could say that maybe you just forgot to invite someone up for some coffee, but something tells me that there's more to your cold should then just silencing the press and you with it, not to mention just how obvious it would be if any more bodies turn up. Two is enough to establish a link, and not to mention the jewelry theft." Repeating myself in a flow of paraphrased data vomit would have been the best way for me to keep the pieces in place and try to see something that I had neglected to take note of before, now that we could also attribute the crimes to the people who may or may not wish to keep it under wraps and out of the tabloids.

"_Three, actually, there was a third body which came up five days ago at the bottom of the east harbor. The body itself had been through far less abuse as opposed to the others, however, there were striations and signs of struggle as if he had been fighting off his kidnapper throughout. Oh, and that robbery we looked into before? The security tape came back, it was complete static, one guy I know claims that something like that might be possible using magnetics to corrupt camcorder footage. Whoever was involved, doesn't want to be in the spotlight."_ He added.

"Three? I don't understand this, how can they just close a case without even attempting to look for those responsible! Corruption or not, it doesn't make any sense, if they were looking to hide something there would be far more questions asked by closing the cases to begin with." I insisted, foaming at the mouth behind my own voices self-imposed harshness, despite the barrier between the two of us he could feel it almost instantaneously.

"_Four separate statements were issued to the department from four different sources, each asking that the investigations be overseen by one of their own internally, someone they can trust. First it was the first victims wife, followed by a lawyer representing the second, and then the third victims wife who also just so happened to be a judge, and then to top it all off the owners of the jewelry store had sent something similar. They're in bad enough shape as it is after the station attack, they have higher ups answering to the mayor, they wont do anything that would lead to a legal battle and spend taxpayer dollars arguing in court."_ He explained.

"What...what do you mean the wife of the first victim? From the little you had told me about him, he didn't seem like the marrying type?" I inquired.

_"Well...you'd be surprised, and he was given temporary assistance from the department, almost like being under witness protection: any and all ties to his true identity and family were kept secret, should anything go wrong."_ He elaborated further, taking a deep breathe as the gust of wind was cast against the phone's speaker.

"Well, its a long shot, but maybe the wife knew something about his time away from home that he didn't like? I still think we might be able to get some sort of statement out of the store owners, you wouldn't happen to have the information, would you?" I asked him coyly.

"Are you going to be giving them a house-call?" He chimed in.

"Maybe...just wanting to ask a few things for myself, the information, please?" I persisted, his own will not doing much in the way of a protest, and he began after a momentary sigh.

_"They live on the east side of Jerelsky Parkway, it's a bit out there on the more ritzier part of town, names are Brenda and Jerald Kamner."_ His words couldn't have grabbed any more of a stranglehold of my attention if they had been laced with poison and launched from a foot long dagger and sent straight through to my heart itself, that simple name being such a game changer that had made me stutter and lose my gruff vocals for a second. The couple had been very influential in Gotham, there was no doubt about that, regardless of my own ignorance that they had just so happened to be the proprietors of said jeweler in question, but not only had they been a gluttonously diamond infused tribute to the dread Cerberus...they had a daughter by the name of Lilly. It had already been oh so long since I had seen them last, no doubt they hadn't exactly wished me well, nor had they spoken to me much at all after the two of us had stopped seeing each other. Would they be able to point me out, regardless of a poor mans attempt at anonymity with a cheap mask and days selection from a plain wardrobe? The more my mind dwelled on such, the more the idea had actually began to appear more likely to work out in my favor, and once again I rationalized that a hastily pieced together obscurity was not necessary in this case. _"Are you still there?"_

"Yeah, yeah...I just...I have to go. Stay safe, commissioner." I hung up the phone immediately afterwards, leaving the breeze to chase off the silence slowly encroaching from all directions, my feet carrying my slightly slumped over figure towards my next waypoint as best as I could manage.


	53. Equilibrium

_You know...I like to think that...you're a part of this family, and that no matter what happens between the two of you...we don't blame you._

_I just...wish that we could have met under a different set of stars...woken up in a different world, a different bed, a different life..._

_I just wish...that you could realize just how much you mean to her...how...how she just lights up when she thinks of you..._

_Brian...what have you done? Where...is she?_

The Kamner family had been a match made in hell: Brenda was a recovering alcoholic and lover of the fine arts, mostly sculptures and oil pastel work, where as Jerald was a vengeful recipient of far too many failed get rich quick schemes who had spent most Saturday afternoons hemorrhaging money making wagers at the racetrack. His temper was as troublesome as his troublesome track record, a pitiful seven successes after a total of twenty six attempts, more often then not he would be lucky to break even at the end of the day...but yet the store the duo were the proprietors of had continued to run without even the slightest of hiccups. Like with most inconsistencies in Gotham, people hadn't been able to spare the energy to attribute any sort of disbelief to such claims that their humble wares weren't more then meets the eye. Many questions were raised and even more rumors were tossed back and forth in an attempt to dispel the curiousness of the masses, some would claim that the mob had been holding underground meetings downstairs in a reclusive, yet furnished floor beneath the front desk. But all of that is no more a fact then believing in any one of the number of baseless conspiracy theories floating about, right? Well, regardless of whether or not the better business bureau was taken with their tactics, I had gotten the opportune ability to see them up close and personal and away from the smoke and mirrors of one's own lust for the almighty dollar. Logic might dictate that you were to believe the two of them to be some measure of monstrosity, thanks to the first description I've given you, but it's fare more true to form to say that they were simply a more blackened shade of humanity. Could they be monsters? Perhaps, but there's a far more bare bottom line you need be considering, and that is this: not all human beings are monsters, but all monsters are human.

As far as residential suits in Gotham were concerned, they had managed to secure for themselves one of the nicest places that money could buy, I myself had always been more a fan of the art nouveau movement but their own streamlined fixtures and hearty fragrance was delightful in its own right. Not once in all of the time I had known Lilly had I found myself visiting this place, and as far as the feel to things and what little I could make out from the faint light emanating from the mock stain glass windows, they hadn't been here for very long either. Towards the tail end of my time with her, there were murmurings of her family needing to pack up their things and leave for another residence in a more sanctioned part of the city, but once it all ended I had no more of an insight into the situation then a fly knows the tribulations of the mange-ridden dog it hovers around. The front door was given a sort of plating to mimic the sense of it being entirely comprised of a single sanded and polished wooden board, the door knob was a bit more rounded on all sides and was of a golden brass, my outstretched hand reached for it and a single spark of static went soaring up the length from my fingertip to my elbow. Tilting my head upwards to the small pane of glass in the middle of the door, I could make out a figure scurrying about further inside the house, although the finer details of the house and what they were doing were lost on me. With a deep breathe and my fingers raised and clenched into a fist, I gave the door a trio of soft knocks and then watched casually through the glass to see if they had taken notice to me, after a few more moments and a second set of steadily louder knocks, they had. A Pencil thin figure had shuffled about and through the shadows of the unknown expanses of the house and was now moving headlong towards the front door, and by a few minutes time had passed I could hear the faint tinging of the tumblers being called back to life. With the entrance now being revealed to me and the blackened silhouette now being cast into the light of day, a pair of earthen bloodshot eyes pierced their way into my skull and refused to lose sight of my own auburn orbs.

"Hey...I-uh, I know it's been a long time, could I maybe...come in for a bit?" It had been quite a long while since I had found myself feeling so incredibly undressed in what would be otherwise considered a normal bout of conversation, but here there was this sense that I didn't have anything to really bargain with for the information which I desired. And not to mention, while I had seen others whom had known of me outside of my own anonymous exploits, they hadn't seemed to be attached to something which had meant so much to me and for so long. The woman at the door motioned for me to follow her into the depths of lightlessness which to me in this exact moment had felt like being culled within the hellish night that had seemed to oppress us all even with the reassurance of daybreak, but despite my own qualms I began to mimic her direction and entered unto the stale air and nervous vibes which clung to all. Walking through the two rooms which had separated us from our destination: one being a small studio with stray newspaper and surplus paint and art supplies strewn from one side of the room to the other, the only meaningful addition to the space had been the decorative canvas which had been prominently and proudly standing on its stand, but even though the mess had remained she hadn't seemed to have a single spec of color on her. For the second room, not much could be said of it, as the only feature I could get a good grasp of was the copious amount of freight boxes which had managed to pile up, filled with unspecified belongings and accompanied by a few postage forms and a roll or two of packing tape. For one solitary moment, my mind dwelled on the two rooms before my body would take a seat in the seemingly ornate and pristine kitchen which would call a perplexing context to them, the whole lot of it just seemed to feel as if this house hadn't been fully a home to the both of them.

"I heard about your case in the news a while back, congratulations...what can I do for Gotham's newest member of the "let them eat cake" club?" She spat, all the while oozing this pure ordinance which had made me feel a bit unwelcome, and my words were to stumble for a moment before I regained my focus and shrugged off her foul behavior.

"I know that one of your stores was recently broken into...I also know, that you for some reason don't seem too upset about it, is there any reason for that?" I asked, trying my best not to give away the reasoning behind the questioning.

"Why is it any of your business? And how do you even know about that in the first place?" She was becoming a bit more aggressively defensive, and I knew it would be necessary to cut to the point, but yet still I would need to find a way past her own emotional guard to get any answers.

"I'm a great listener...I always have been, Jerald would spend hours going over his work and all of the plans for bringing in exotic new merchandise, do you really think that he wouldn't be the least bit phased by any of it being stolen from him? But yet, he doesn't want to file a report with the police? If...if he's involved with something, I...I want to try and help you guys out." It was my honest rationale, at this point, they were the face I saw beyond the curtain of nameless victims and fruitless losses to companies and organizations who had all seemed to blend together in this place by this point.

"You know...if you wanted to help...I mean, if you really wanted to help us out. You would have been around three months ago, when we buried our daughter, and the one person who we had to hear tell us so many times that he couldn't live without her...couldn't be bothered to show up!" My mouth sprung open like a defective trap door, and all of the planning I had under my belt, hadn't meant a thing: I was speechless. "She left a note, saying that she saw you just before, and yet you knew about and didn't do anything? The mob isn't the problem...it's you, you're the murderer!"


	54. Raise Curtain

The past is a nightmare for anyone with a proper conscience, the present is a limited window into a better way of thinking, and the future...is but a dream. And within it, and it's many exploits, the faint reflection of its presence of future tense births a bastardized incarnation of what we had once lived for. Each man, woman, and child born onto this earth dreams of something beyond their current level of understanding and familiarity, and while sometimes we care to discover the mystique that is needed to bring it out of the shadows it is far more probable to live forever in a haze of ghastly contrast. A wise man once told of those who seek to heartlessly sleepwalk through their lives, not realizing that they would cripple their own chances for happiness on a fantasy that could never breach through their own minds deceit, and continue to do much of the same damage to others. The difference between the two is but day and night, and yet we often cannot let go of the desires we might have latched on to since our adolescence, mine was far more simple then most would have expected: I just wanted to never be alone again. As I had made my way down the street corners and feverishly paced beside a precariously placed bus stop, I couldn't sit still to save my own life and it was of no consequence to myself as I pondered how my own senses had thought so little of her of late. Ever since I had left the hospital I had spent my time lurking in dimly lit alleyways and pairing a pained grin with an even more severely forced smile as I tried to piece the moments back into synchronization, but yet everything I had needed was standing right in front of me. My stomach was churning and I honestly couldn't manage to keep my head far above the ground floor, but yet my own pessimistic nature was calling out to one retort that was steadily becoming the mantra which would steady my hand, a rusted and worse for ware bus screeched to a halt beside myself...and the digitized sign on its front said that it was heading east.

Contrary to popular belief, pessimists aren't seeking others to synchronize with their own beliefs, nor are they attempting to gain a distasteful self actualization: it has less to do with being able to be proven right, and more about simply pleading to find someone who can be up to the task of proving them wrong...about everything. One moment, one breathe, one look, the key to the happiness of one's self is but in those of whom we surround ourselves, and right now there was a small refuge center which I had needed to reach and a mentally ill-equipped mind which was content to poke and prod away at itself all the way there in search of just what to say. Nothing would matter in a month's time, and I may have just been able to live long enough that I would come to scoff at the motions of my mind, but as I handed the driver a crumbled up five dollar bill and sat down in the first available seat I could find it only mattered that I cared what I was doing at this juncture. A soft hum and the occasional bodily noise from the miscellaneous passengers was all that there was to keep me company, the engine revving itself back to life as the metallic behemoth roared up and down the streets at a respectable speed. My attention coasted from place to place, eventually landing on a proverbial sweet spot that was a somewhat distorted reflection of my own face against the smeared and dingy glass window pains, a new face appearing to the left of me as I had noticed that someone had taken the initiative enough to sit down next to me. Now, I go so far as to say that they did this with the clear intention of having me distinguish their prescence more so then anyone else on the bus for good reason, seeing as I had purposely chosen a ratty and torn seat that was being held together with duct tape and an ungodly amount of fool's hope with the thought of avoiding people. And yet, this person had felt so inclined as to say hi, my eyes timidly scrolling to either side to reveal that the mystery individual was none other than a stunning young woman with a remarkable set of eyes that gave off an aquamarine glow...and a flowing mass of blonde hair that was only further captivating with the inclusion of a deeply crimson highlight in the front.

"Can I...help you with something?" I asked her suspiciously, eyeing her up further and seeing her overall rugged appearance and somewhat homely fashion, not in the sense that she was ugly as much as I could say that her once presentable clothing was now well lived in.

"Sorry...I just get a bit jumpy...i'm nervous, is all." She answered amicably, her thickly seasoned accent not being held back from me in the slightest. "I just always get the feeling like you never know what might happen, I just don't feel very safe, ya know?"

"Well, I can assure you, I once snuck into a class on auto-engineering and I can tell you that public transportation is the safest way to travel. This thing is built like a tank, so you'd need some significant artillery to take it down." I did my best to reassure her, one eyebrow still on edge as I wondered what my appeal had been. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

"Name's Harley, but it's alright puddin', you don't need to tell me your name...I already know it, Brian." She coldly remarked, with a grin bringing her properly shined lipstick out into the light, she began to calmly fiddle about in search of something in a small over-the-shoulder handbag she had brought with her barring a red and black diamond pattern. "Do you like fireworks, B-man."

The item continued to be obscured by the grasp of her own hands, but she had seemed to have two of her fingers around something attached to the device and whatever it had been hadn't been enough for her to take her eyes off of me. She licked her lips playfully and then I could see for a brief second a minimalistic piece that had several loose wires coming off from the side, and now I could see that her two fingers had been trained on what appeared to be a lever or pulley of some kind. Her eyes lighting up with anticipation, she cranked it to the side and within half a second a series of things happened all around me: an earth shattering blast shattered the dull auditory minutia, a menagerie of shrieks and groans could be heard aloud and what I could only guess was an exsplosion had overtaken the view from our window, a subtle draft had entered through some of the previously opened panes, and as my head turned to the side I was greeted with the not so glamorous discovery that our vehicle had been turned upside down. My own head had landed against a metal railing with an ample amount of force, and from the impact my head was now spinning and my ears had since popped as the ringing is my ears set in fully. My conversationalist counterpart had not been in my vision as my being lumbered wildly and I weakly managed to hold myself up by my own two hands pressing the full extent of my bodyweight against a window which was now beneath my feet. A single, swift strike landed to the back of my head and before I knew it my body was reduced to the ground floor once again, seconds after I could feel a soft hand latching onto my feet and pulling me out of wreckage. Despite the delicate nature of the hand which had grabbed me, I still would be in for a rude awakening as an inhumane amount of strength then flung me across the street and I skidded against the macadam void that was the roadway itself, my hands cut up in a million different places as it felt like I had broken pieces of glass digging into my palms the whole way there.

"What...the fuck...is wrong with you..." I huffed, still trying to wake myself from the nightmare that was my life, and also realizing just how often of late I had found myself asking or pondering that same question.

"I'm just havin' a bit of fun, mista.' What's wrong, havin' a bit of trouble? Maybe a collapsed lung?" She inquired with a bit of false concern, sounding as if I was a small child complaining about a splinter, a soft chuckle sounding as she begin to prance around the street in a circle.


	55. Fissure

My lungs were struggling to keep up with the motion of the moment, and by the time i could fully manage to get a better glimpse of my assailant was once again at the ready with another attack: now rather impressively holding me up by the tufft of my shirt and seconds following another deathly stare i was sent flying into a stray tire to the side of the vehicular destruction. But unlike the rest of this encounter, this time i had managed to gain the footing to make it possible for myself to land on my own two feet, or rather on my one foot and the rest of my weight being assigned to my scuffed knee. An oblong object roughly the size of an apple came flying at me face first, and I only had a split second to grab an elongated peice of debris and attempt a return to sender, accuracy was however a casuality of the act as it carreemed off to the side and landed just underneath a parked car. That very same car then went up into a swirling pillar of smoke as my insticts were proven justified and I executed a poorly envisioned barrel rool to avoid having to play short stop a second time, the peice still clutched longingly in my hands in case fate decided to be less then agreeable.

"You carry a grenade under your skirt?" I said running low on air supply, but still not close enough that i was about to call it quits. "Listen, i'm not about to hit a girl, alright? So...if you want...something from me...you're just going to have to ask me."

"I aint a girl!" She barked as she lunged forward with an outstretched leg and landed a single punch wholeheartedly into my left eye, its spazzing out as the strike most likely sent an eyelash into the deepest depths of my brain, she tried for a matching set but this time I stopped it dead an inch from my cheek.

"No worries...but you know...that doesn't explain...what you want from me!" I shouted as I spun her off course and onto her back, the wind having been knocked out of her momentarily, she was slow to return to her feet. "Do you know just how many people you've just put in harms way! How many people could be dead right now because of you!"

"Like you would care...what about what you did to Mister J! What about him, Mr. Big-shot?" She beckoned demandingly as she rose onto her knees.

"You don't know anything about me, or him, or anyone! Why would you or anyone else care about I did or didn't do! What does it matter to you anyway?" I pleaded with her to explain further.

"You don't understand what you took away from me...he... he promised that he was going to come back. And now because of you, he's never going to..." At first I had imagined that she was going to tear up at that point, but instead she simply began to stare off into the distance at was technically no more then just the side of a building.

"You're not missing anything...alright? I put him someplace where he's never going to hurt another soul ever again, alright? I spared you the harsh reality of knowing that he was just a manipulative piece of shit who wanted to use you! If you get up right now, and turn yourself in, it's going to be a lot more easy for me to help you." My reasoning was almost as effective of preaching tolerance to an uptight republican, and she just stayed the course and became lost to a world of her own thoughts, and as I watched the rhythm of her own pupils the likeness became obvious and it was almost painful to witness such a similarity in such a reckless form. Crouching down onto my hind legs, I figured I would make one last appeal to her in hopes to keep her this calm until someone could survey the area and keep her contained. "Hey? Are you still in there? Listen...I know what it's like to believe in something...and have to realize that it's only hurting me in the end. I've lost someone close to me, too, and as much as I might want it back...I...I know that it's a poison im better off not having in my life anymore. I have no idea...who you are...but you don't have to see this as the end."

The number one rule of self preservation: in the face of a threat to your life, under no circumstances should you take your eyes off of your opponent, even if it's just for a second and behind you is a mountain of heavenly smelling baked goods and Christie mack doing an all jumping-jack workout routine. General rule of thumb is that the second you give someone ample time, presence, and opportunity to stab you in the back, or front, they will make sure to do just that without further provocation. There must have been some sort of shard of broken glass by her right side, it was glimmering a ghastly swamp green as she raised her arm into the air with full intent to sink it into me, and she would have done just that if it hadn't of been for the whistling of a small wired cord sinking into her own

"Well, well, well...i'm glad to see that...other girl's share my...appreciation for you." She cooed as my head turned upwards towards the sky and her slender form stepped into frame, the one and only woman of the night I had seen so many times before this moment stood over me with as subdued a demeanor as ever, and my facial expression kept to something akin to a smirk briefly before I shook my head to either side and noticed my sparring partner writhing in pain.

"You didn't have to do that, you know? I had the situation under control. That was completely uncalled for!" I insisted.

"Oh...I know, I heard. You know it's still adorable when you think you're in charge. Relax, haven't you ever had electroshock therapy before? It's...just a little...deterrent...it's just like getting a massage, except instead of two hands...you have a couple hundred volts of electricity...you can barely feel it. And besides, is it so wrong to feel a bit jealous? I mean, what's a girl to do? What if she has something that I don't? Hmm?" She questioned, looking me straight in the eyes and perking up her shoulders as she did so."

"You have a grenade under your skirt?" I inquired curiously.

"Don't be so...silly...why on earth would I only have one of them?" She mused, pushing herself further into the aftermath of the fray and over to the immobilized Harley, and her victim. Carefully walking across the wreck that was around the three of us as the black, posh footwear she was wearing wouldn't have been much of a defense against broken glass for long, and gave her a slight nudge with her foot to try and stir some sort of resistance out of the girl. After three attempts which yielded little in her favor, she grew bored of the notion and turned her attention back towards me once more, cheeky smile still out front and center. "What did she do to get such a show? Hmm. Maybe I should be taking down some notes...?"

"Shh...it's...it's okay...you'll understand soon. We'll...be even...isn't that right...mista' J?" Her voice had retuned, albeit horse and only coming through in short bursts like the fire to a dimly light candle against a strong wind, as her body continued to jerk about as she tried to reestablish dominance over to extremities. She was most likely fading in and out by this point, and not thinking straight even before the surge was sent through her, but if she was willing to take out a bus just to have me go with it then I wasn't about to dismiss the vague threat.

"What did you do?" I probed forcefully, trying not to mince words around at this point.

"I didn't do nothin'...I just...reunited a happy family is all...don't cha like a nice family get togetha? ...all it took was a name and an address." She confessed as she laughed weakly through her own pain, passing out shortly after with the asphalt being her only comfort she could find for her fractured mind and flushed face.

"Oh no..." I gasped as the thoughts running through my head slowly began to snowball and flood my mind, the walls beginning to strangle the life out of me entirely, a cold hand found it's way onto my shoulder blade in retort.

"Need some help? You know...dead bodies are easier to move when you have a partner." She offered in a fit of peppy exuberance as the mania was momentarily cleared from her eyes.

"No...no one else is going to die tonight!" I declared on belated breath as I charged forward, leaving the two of them behind in my wake.


	56. Just Breathe

_We'll always find each other...I just need to believe it...I just wish that you were here with me right now. Its...it's just all falling apart here...and I don't know what to say...what to tell them. They...just want whats best for me but I don't think I can do this anymore...why...why did this all have to happen?_

_Don't listen to them...this is not who you are!_

_So...you still think that you can save them?_

_Brian, you've been spacing out...lately..._

_I'd like to talk about you some more today...about your friends? You were saying before...that you often find it easier to be alone with your thoughts?_

_You don't understand what it's like...to be responsible for every single thing that comes out of your mouth...and yet you still can hear it. Every single damn second, I cant always keep them quiet...I already said that I was sorry._

_Who did you tell that you were sorry, Brian? A nurse, or maybe an orderly or one of the other doctors?_

_No...the voices, they're screaming at me, they don't always make sense. Some of them want to help me, and then some of them don't._

_What...do they ask you to do?_

_They...they ask me to remember, but I don't want to, I don't want to remember any of it, god dammitt! For fuck's sake, I just want it all t go away. _

_Listen, Brian...it might not seem like the easiest option, but unless you can come to terms with this you'll never be able to fully heal. Brian? Are you listening to me?_

_Why...why...why do you keep calling me that? Stop calling me that! Who are you! _

_Guards! We need to sedate him!_

Penelope had a somewhat slim figure, a bottom lip that always managed to poke its way out and attempt its own distancing from its counterpart, and perhaps that had been one of the first things I had taken into consideration in regards to her appearance. You see, I haven't the faintest idea of how it was scientifically possible, but somehow she had taken it upon herself to learn the English language in a way that was unlike most people. Mistakenly pronouncing certain words with additional letters and consonants which were entirely irrelevant, but at the same time a far bit amusing if you were of such good fortune to be seated next to her. Or rather, within the general vicinity of her aura of being an overall pleasant person, or in the very least she had wished for others to think that much: she used to be called into the counselors office every other day, and she would beg to be let go from lectures on any day she wasn't. She was a very heavy person to be around, but yet it was a string of good luck that had left most of her personal business out of the news and out of the mouths of less than gentle souls...that is at least it was like that for awhile. Until one morning when her parents had been fighting the night before, and one thing must have led to another and her father put his hand on her, the story came up when she wore a very flowery dress to school and her shoulders had revealed the bruises for the whole school to take in. They gawked at her and said that abusers like her father would go straight to the emblazoned embrace of hell itself, but still she knew better then to react to their cajoling and remained locked into her fictional studies. I remember her, but yet, why after all of this time had she remembered me of all people?

H_ey...do you hear me? What are you fucking death or something'?_

_No, she isn't...but if you don't shut the fuck up I might just be. I wouldn't have to say something if the educational system would pay our teacher enough to stay awake until the lunch bell, but there's about as much hope for that as there is you shaving that half-realized scrotum off your head and passing more then just a drug test. _

_Listen...man, i'm just telling her the truth, alright?_

_Maybe she doesn't want to hear the truth? Huh? Ever thought of that? I mean, im not an expert on religion or anything, but I'll be damned if I'd imagine the word of an almighty entity being regulated by the crack baby of Carrot Top and Bob Marely. _

_Yeah...well, no one asked you, anyways._

_Thanks...you didn't have to do that, you know?_

_I know...I've been diagnosed with oppositional disorder, so just thank the chemical imbalances in my brain. _

_You're not going to ask my name, or anything?_

_Nope, I shouldn't have to._

If you were going to be tasked with finding the most secluded place in all of Gotham at this time of day, then there wouldn't have been much better a place to go then the old shipping yard just ten miles or so east of the narrows, ever so affectionately referred to now as the "devil's playground." Some locations were best used for drop-off points, or maybe shady business deals, or maybe just a quick get together with some of the lower level pushers or enforcers to cover their bases without any police presence, but this wasn't even close to being the case. Some in the scientific community that seagulls fly out to the sea when it comes time to shuttle off the mortal coil, well then this minefield of stray ammunition and graffiti laden locomotives was the sea of forsaken souls, and now my only guess of Penelope's current location would run the risk of being wasted on such a desolate and turbulent locale. At a point nearly two meters in four or five downed train cars all converged together, each facing opposite directions and effectively giving me adequate room to lean my chest forward and turn the corner to survey the scene. It hadn't steadied my heart rate in the slightest but my instincts had been right, and she sat in the middle of the largely impassable open area, kneeling down gagged and blindfolded with five men standing guard on all sides of her. Their faces had been obscured by tinted frames, blue bandanas, and baseball caps which had either been turned all the way around or were facing right side out to further hide any physical detail...but for the simple task of keeping a woman detained who had just the day before been crawling towards the ladder stages of a first trimester pregnancy...they were armed to the teeth. Two of the lot were carrying fairly simple firearms, each of them side arms that appeared to be glock pistols half hazardly stashed into their pants as if it were a holster, where as the other three hadn't displayed any visible weaponry so I had hoped they merely brought a blade or two into the mix.

"Easy...just...take it easy, I don't have any weapons on me, alright? Nobody needs to get hurt. I'm just going to take a shot in the dark and guess...that one of you is the father? Huh? El Padre?" My voice failing to sound calm as I spoke aloud.

"We speak English, asswipe." One of the men squawked crudely in reply, the motion of his lips being mimicked through the black skull printed onto the fabric over his mouth.

"Well, okay, I'll just assume that it's you then." This prompted a cold stare which seemed to last an eternity and he began to softly and slowing reach for something in his pockets, thirty seconds time would prove that answer to be an eight to nine inch switchblade that would find its home resting against Penelope's face, her initial response to this clearly showing that she was fearing for her life and trying with all of her might to scream through the gag. "What do you want?"

"You don't get it, do you holmes? This bitch was warned...if she ever left me...well, let's say she was warned, alright?" He was wavering on whether or not he wanted to keep the blade trained on her or whether it was best to advance forward after me with it, the blindfold came down from her face and soon she began to understand just how dire things had become for the both of us. The only true difference was on which side of the blade we were facing, as I took a single step towards him and now had both of his armed comrades looking at me with enough of an eager trigger finger that I wouldn't need to coax them into shooting me then and there.

"If you do this, you aren't just killing her! You would honestly kill you're unborn daughter! Or maybe you never really cared about her, at all? What? Was it just a way to control her?" My anger was present, but at the same time I couldn't exactly verbally go to town on someone who was clearly not playing around with our lives in the balance, and the bluff was the only bargaining chip I had. Two more steps, I was placing my faith in the idea that I could make them follow my voice and not my subtle movements, there was a small piece of garbage to the side of me that I could roll behind but that wasn't going to save her.

"I never wanted to be a father, anyway, she'd probably just turn out just like her mother. Never knowing when to keep her fucking mouth shut!" He finished as he sent one of his knuckles full speed into her left eye, taken off of her balance she was then softly sobbing on her side, spared from any more of his torment as he called one of the gunmen over to his side.

"Please! Don't do this! She hasn't done anything!" My voice couldn't have been any louder, but still the more my voice carried he could only draw nearer to her frazzled form, in what felt like slow motion I could see the masked man withdrawing his gun and centering it with her temple." Please! I need her...!"

_Hey..._

_Hey..._

_It's alright to let go..._

_We...don't have to end here, there's something more to life then thinking about how it all ends...how the sun sets and when the day will break..._

Just Breathe...

Just Breathe...

It wasn't your fault...

It wasn't your fault...

It wasn't your fault.


	57. It Is Darkest

*BANG*

Nearly all of my life I had dreamed for an endless loop of silence to replace the string of bothersome others who had invaded my personal space, and at times had even gotten so angry that I had acted out of sorts just to make them stop talking. I wasn't the kindest or the nicest of a man to those who had done me wrong or even simply managed to annoy me, and for more then two decades my own antisocial behavior had been a self induced comfort which I could fall back on...but right then and there I would have given anything, everything I had just to hear her make a sound. Something, anything, whether it was a shriek or a muffled scream, all that I wished for was to stave off the awful realization that had came up from the depths of the bitter blackness. She hadn't moved, and the man who had the audacity to even be given such a title had been standing beside her, softly nudging her and ensuring that he had carried out his own malevolent handiwork. The tears wanted to come out, I wanted to sob uncontrollably into the breeze that would surround me but much to the consistency of the area I could only find stillness, and my eyes began to loose their maneuverability as I didn't want to see any of it anymore. My ears were ringing from the gunshot but I could still make out the pitter patter of that same despicable waste of space inching closer to me with the knife from moments before now at the ready, and it was only logical that I would be next.

"It's nothin' personal, esse, but it's just how you survive in a place like this. If you dont make an example out of people, then it's going to you or me who'll be put into the ground next, feel me?" He catered to an immeasurably small scale of sensitivity, the cold steel was grazing against the nape of my neck as he grew impatient with my lack of responsiveness. "Hey! Don't you fuckin' ignore me!"

A deep breath welled within me and kept itself low, and as that very same air was expelled from my lungs my full body swung around and out of his grasp before he could get a fair handle on my throat. Now standing just behind him, i reached from where i stood and commanded his hand to take my lead and my own fingers were deadlocked to his wrist, now ridding him of the temptation to use the knife and now aiming at back at him. His crew were quick to swarm around me in an attempt to bribe me into a sense of defeat, but i new that if i circled around and held my ground they would know that i was serious, and furthermore didn't care anymore. There was a numbness which my entire being was bathing in, and a small instinctive impulse was driving me forward towards something else then the usual, it wasnt quite survival...but instead vengeance. One step to the right, followed soon after by a full turn about to witness two of them trying to catch me off guard and ambush me from behind, and by this point it was clear i would need to move past posturing to fight them off. Instead of taking the knife to my captive audience member, i flung it forward and hit it's mark right in the neck of one of the gunmen, while i ducked by about an inch and let the other put a bullet square between the eyes of my human shield. In the mix of the confusion i took the opportunity to close in and twist the hand with the firearm in-between my armpit, relieving him of the weapon only to strike him down to his knees with a blow to the mouth with the back end of it seconds later. And then there were two. They each had the clever idea of coming at me from opposing sides at about the same time, forcing me to take a pick of who i'd be evading, but little did they anticipate that i would be quick enough to let them both lunge at me and then duck out of the way at the last second. All they got to do was make my job all the more easy, and now the gun was still in my hand, the warmth of my hand eliminating the bitter cold of the pistol and showcasing the intensity more so then he beads of sweat on my brow ever could.

"Please...we wont ever fuck wit' you again...just dont kill me. I have a family." The second of the lot pleaded, now breathing heavily on the ground floor as he was backing away from my position in what was far more of a crawl then it was a walk.

"...so did I." It wasnt my usual tone of voice, my face casting off any trace of the blood that had once given it such a faint rosy complexion, and with an expressionless stare i raised the gun before him and ended the noise.

*BANG*

*BANG*

*BANG*

*BANG*

It took me exactly sixteen steps to reach the limp form of my fallen friend, and sixteen steps had been all that my body had allowed me to take, dropping down beside her lifeless form like the air within me had vanished all in the span of a fraction of a second. My hands gently found themselves running up the side of her arms, pressing my face against the edge of her shoulderblade, delicately as I could manage it I turned her over to see her face one last time. And that was when it all finally broke free: all of the weight of the moment and the stress bearing down on me, each of the things I had wanted to have said if it was the only time i had left, and as best i could i gave into my own madness as the heaving and blubbering came out as my face made a pillow out of her abdomen. I couldn't leave, my feet wouldn't permit me to commit such a treason, I had to remain here and keep her safe...she would want me to. I cant just abandon her, she's going to get back up, she's going to be alright, you'll...you'll all see.


	58. Those That Remain

I cannot tell you how long I had stayed there, clutching her lifeless vessel in my arms, nor can I say for certain how I had managed to elude the sirens as they closed in around me to survey the scene after the dust had all but settled. But for the next two days life limped onward as if the world was none the wiser to her struggle, or the dysfunction that had been made so eerily commonplace because of the gang presence here, or even the sensation of warm iron clinging to my fingertips that I couldn't shake even after the dozenth wash. Over the course of the two decades I had been alive on this earth, I will not be such an obstinate person or delusional enough to believe that I hadn't lied to the people closest to me, but I swear to you that no lie I had ever told hurt me to say as much it did that day. Michael had spoken to me that evening after he had returned home from work, a bit earlier then his usual but at that point his choice to abstain from tardiness was the last thing on my mind, and he had to fumble through the words needed to tell me that the police had found Penelope's body. He spent a great deal of time structuring his delivery to the nth degree, even including the part where he was wildly motioning with his hands in exasperation as he mentioned that the people involved had been found brutally murdered beside her, and all the while I just had to figure out the right time and place to let myself fall to pieces once again. If there were ever a single most debilitating regret that I could take away from my time in Gotham, it would be that I never got the nerve to tell him the full extent of my involvement with her death. Maybe then I could have offered up some words of wisdom for him, too, as he looked at me as though he hadn't offered her enough protection from those he knew full well had wished to do her harm.

The services were a very small affair, with a grand total of six people had come to pay their respects: two friends of hers she had kept in contact with from an outreach program she had only mentioned to me in passing, a local minister who had been somewhat pale in the face and dead in the eyes to say farewell to such a young soul, her mother who mostly kept quite and watched as they casket had been lowered into the burial plot, Michael who mostly tried to keep a single tear from escaping beyond the reaches of his burdened and blackened eyelids, and myself. In the beginning I had found it proper enough to hide off to the side and remain obscured by a rather large tree in the graveyard itself, but as the service began I had found the courage enough to inch closer to my scruffy counterpart, my attention being latched onto the others and whether or not anything would be said on her behalf. A few shovels worth of tilled soil drenched over her newfound resting place, and the limp turnout thinned to nothing more then just the three of us who had been connected to her most, outside of obligation or fear. Her mother was the next to leave her, and us, the same puffiness in her eyes that we all had exhibited, but yet in the moments I had shared with her never had she given much thought to mention her mother to any extent. Maybe we all just tend to think of the sun, all the while walking towards a future drought? And their relationship hadn't been as simple as negligence or overabundance? Maybe in a shortage of proper context we all fail to see past the easiest of answers?

"How's the view?" A slightly gruff voice spoke to the side of me as a hand found its way wrapped around the index of my shoulder blade, a quick turn to my side revealing that Michael had apparently made his peace and now was trying his best to see how I was fairing.

"Her mom was here a lot longer than I thought would be...just...considering, maybe there's something more to it? She's at peace, and...nobody can ever hurt her, again. Maybe...this is the sight that you need to see...her...finally safe. It's once you move from this spot...that you realize that she's gone." I muttered, mostly to myself, but I had managed to get Michael to crack a smile with my musings. "I have to move from here, don't I?"

"Welcome to adulthood, kid. Come on, I know that i'm...not exactly the best with this...but it's going to get better, Brian." He told me, reassuringly. "Come on, kid, let's just get out of here...have a few drinks...hit a strip club...and try to forget for a few hours that the world is such a pile of shit."

"But...why did you help her? It's just...I know you, alright, and I know you don't just any case that comes to your attention. You've refused people, whether it was their beliefs or your own, why was she so different?" I inquired.

"Listen, Brian, it's not about what I or anyone believes in. It's about what is best for the child, no matter what, you cant deal out an absolute and just expect not to make enemies. You make your own path in life, and you live with the consequences, alright? She came into my office, scared and unsure of herself, and she reminded me of someone else who was once a good friend of mine. She asked me for a very similar favor, but I knew for her that she would regret giving away that child for the rest of her life, she had all that she needed to make the choice that was right for her...all I did was let her know that no matter what she decided there was someone who supported her." Michael exclaimed, in a surprisingly calm voice considering the subject matter.

"And...do you really think that she made the right decision?"

"Damn straight...well, I mean...I cant speak for her, obviously. However, I know the kid's had almost twenty years and he hasn't gone a day without making me proud."

"So...strip club, huh? Is that what years of med school taught you about bedside manner?" I replied, jokingly.

"Keep it up, Manson, don't test me. I can be proud yet still kick your ass." He said in retort as the two of walked in unison towards the car, however while he made it all the way to his destination without realizing that I had stopped short at about halfway, held in place by my own mind as a certain face I hadn't expected to see came front and center and from seemingly nowhere. As daunting of a task as it must have been, the still unnamed woman had actually managed to appear in nearly appropriate attire for the event, a frilly dress that was of the purest black I had ever seen with an attached veil half covering her face from my sight. She walked to me slowly as if a ghoulish apparition and removed the thin fabric from her face to show that her hair which before had been left mostly untamed was now being restrained in a very no-thrills ponytail behind her head. I had wished to say something, but with the scene put on display before me had left me in a state of shock and awe that was enough to leave me there, immobilized and willing to just let it all sink it with my mouth left agape.

"You're...here." The best statement I could make, but thankfully enough it was accurately concise.

"I actually don't mind funerals...i'm a bigger fan of people when they're beneath the ground then above it...but i'm sure you know that already." The vernacular may have been the same as our other meetings, but here she was showing signs of nervousness that hadn't been acceptable at any other time. No more coolness for the sake of appealing in complete control of the situation, now it was just...just...us.

"I never got your name..." I spoke off topic.

"I could give you my name, but it wouldn't say much about who I really am...so...let's just say...Temptress." She said after a moments deliberation, a quick smirk coming to the surface, although not as delightfully ambiguous as before. "You know...we can change things...although I don't think either of us could do it alone. We...could make it so no more innocent people have to die..."

"You murdered three people...and you expect me to want to work with you? You really are fucking insane..." I trailed off with my sentence.

"Three that you know about, but you aren't a boy scout, yourself. I'm going to make an ity bity guess, honey, and say that you enjoyed pulling the trigger..." She hissed as she snaked her arms around me in one of the most sensuous hugs I had ever received, leaving a trail of soft kisses from jaw to ear. "It all starts with a name, babe...and you don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with...I just want to lighten the load. Just give me a name? Pretty Please?"

"Is that the only reason you came here...?" I questioned, leaving her to sigh deeply before thinking of her next line of defense.

"No...it's not, actually. You don't know this, but...i'm not completely heartless. Everybody has their good days...or well, day. I wouldn't squander it if I were you..." She answered back, her calculating vocals were firing off with hardly enough time for me to even think to mount a comeback as she leaned in close to kiss my lips and nibble on one of them as she pulled away seconds later. "So?"

"Invictus..." Harshly, my mouth uttered that one solitary word, and with her mission accomplished she slowly back stepped into the distance. Michael honked the horn to get my attention and I slowly made my way to the passenger side to take a seat beside him, his head turned my direction as he fumbled around with the gear and began to back out of the cemetery parking lot.

"Well...she seems nice, does she have a sister?"


End file.
